


the war outside our door keeps raging on

by rockerlullaby



Category: Rigel Black Series - murkybluematter
Genre: Canon Crossover, Gen, I really can't think of anymore tags :(, I'll add more later ig, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockerlullaby/pseuds/rockerlullaby
Summary: Harry Potter for this tournament… travels to another universe!So there she is, minding her own business, enjoying the construct's evil spiel—when the ruse is revealed. She travels throughout the country, dodging aurors and death eaters alike and ends up in her second home, Grimmauld Place.A relic there, hidden in the attic of horrors, will take her far far away, to a place we, onlookers through the fourth wall, call canon.
Relationships: Harriet Potter & Harry Potter, Harriet Potter & Severus Snape, Lionel Hurst & Harriet Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Harriet Potter
Comments: 34
Kudos: 78
Collections: Rigel Black Exchange Round 2





	1. To part and stay and by staying splitting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eipthor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eipthor/gifts).



> Eipthor, this is for you! I hope you enjoy it <3

**_I can’t save us, my Atlantis, we fall  
We built this town on shaky ground_ **

* * *

Harry tore into the attic, setting off a couple curses her magic waved off tiredly. She was _so tired_.

...And Archie's bed was so com—

"Potter," shrilled a voice from downstairs.

It injected Harry with renewed force, and frantically shuffled through hallows and relics, looking for—

Carefully, only holding it with the tips of her fingers, she raised the box, which wasn't very tall, proportionally. The edges were drawn with silver and teh box itself was wrapped in a soft grey fabric.

Her gaze blurred all over except for a beautiful engraving the top of the box:

FOR YOU TO LAY REST

She swallowed thickly and her fingers trapped in the dark to find the winding device—she turned it over once, twice, thrice.

It was like someone had pulled on a string attached to her belly—downwards, upwards and all ways at once.

All things considered, Harry's pretty proud of herself when she doesn't outright puke.

When she finally regains control of her innards, she tenses, reaching for her wand—because it didn’t work, she's still in Grimmauld Place's attic. Any moment now, the people following her—good guys or bad guys—will come in to take her away.

 _Why didn't it work?_ , she thought furiously, her knuckles white over her wand.

Her free hand, the one holding the music box, gives it a little shake, prompting a few straggling music notes to lag out. The haunting clicking melody makes her flinch.

 _It promised me rest_ , a small part of her despaired.

Harry felt Dom's annoyance as if it were hers. _I told you to not seek for the cursed artifact_ , he would say.

She started at the sound of the door creaking open.

"Who are you?” a voice growled, so dark and growly it could've come from the muggles’ Hell.

It made Harry's shoulders slacken.

"Sirius," she said, relieved.

He seemed angry, which; fair.

She didn't care he was angry.

She didn't care as she lunged forward, and she didn't care as she slipped her arms around his waist, and she didn't care as she forced her face into the junction of her uncle's neck and shoulder.

With the Polyjuice flushed from her system, she only came up to his chin.

Harry, very carefully, didn't let herself sob. But it would've been so easy, enveloped by this familiar scent.

She couldn't help the wracking of her chest.

It wasn't but a temporary reprieve, though, soon enough she noticed his locked muscles and the fact that he hadn't even made to hug her back.

Before she could feel bad, she realized that her wand was poking into his back, and _then_ she could feel properly bad. Because this man who raised her, an _ex-Auror_ , was afraid of her.

She untangled herself from him, smoothly, trying to make sure he didn't notice the hesitance of her movements.

"I thought you would be busy with Archie’s bail out paperwork," Harry said shyly.

Harry tried to glean something from his expression but his poker face gave her nothing. She winced. He must be really pissed..

The tournament outcome must have been rough on him, Harry thought sorrowfully. Was his face this gaunt that night? Did he grow those eye bags in the last thirty hours? He looked like a man who hadn't seen sunlight in a year.

Since it would be distasteful to thoroughly explain how much she _still_ didn't regret the ruse, she decided she would need to rework her apology draft.

Harry wanted to give him a genuine apology and, at this point in time, Sirius wouldn’t take the only one she had to give.. She steeled herself. Harry's only option was to comfort him, then. She took a deep breath.

"I—”

“Who _are_ you?”

Sirius wand was trained on her when she opened her eyes.

“W-what?”

Harry stumbled backwards, arms spread to scramble for purchase.

“How did you get in here?” he growled, rudely stealing back the space she just gained.

“I—”

"WHO ARE YOU?”

"Uncle Sirius, it's me!” Harry cried. Not an ideal answer but she was having a hard time catching up to her uncle was shouting at her.

“I don’t have any nieces,” he said with heartbreaking conviction.

Harry thought back to the rest of the engraving on the box. She couldn't remember them clearly, and she didn't dare look away from Sirius to inspect it, but a chilling notion settled on her as she recalled a few key words.

"We used to know each other," she told him quietly.

Sirius kept looking at her, stone-faced.

"...Ight. Imma go," Harry told him, clearing her throat awkwardly and unsuccessfully attempting to sidestep her uncle.

Sirius turned her around sharply, one hand around her arm.

“I asked you a question,” he bellowed.

“I don't want to fight,” Harry warned. Or more like pleaded. She probably wouldn't be able to beat Sirius, her ex-auror uncle… in a fair fight. Free duelling, though… But if she could avoid pulling a knife on her uncle, she would.

(And she would pull a knife on him, she really would, if needs must, _she would if he attacked her_ , she _would_ but _maybe—_ ) She just needed something to throw him off.

“I _asked_ , HOW DID Y─”

“I’m James’ daughter!”

She stumbled when he abruptly let go of her arm.

Quickly, without giving her time to freak out about his wand so close to her face, he cast a lumos. She scrunched up her face against the sudden light but refused to let him out of her sight. Harry didn’t know her new features well enough, but she could imagine what Sirius recognized in her as his gaze flitted around her face─her mom’s chin, nose and eyes on her face, and James’ cheeks, eyebrows, hair and stroke of her jaw.

“This is new,” he rasped, his hand rubbing his face. He eyed her warily. “Suppose we’ll have to see if Remus can see you.”

This proclamation, of course, didn’t exaclty calm her down. Did Sirius think… she wasn’t real? What? She followed him, eyeing him warily. Not like she had any other option at the moment.

Besides, she didn’t think _Sirius’ mind_ was the problem. She had a terrible suspicion.

Sirius gestured her to go first, his movements a curious mix of elegant and erratic. Harry couldn’t find a good excuse to walk behind him so she allowed him to open the door for her and lead her inside, down the corridor, down the stairs and… into one of the guest rooms.

Why would Remus be sleeping in one of the guest rooms?

Remus might have stayed her overnight to help Sirius, Harry reasoned, curbing her suspicion away.

When Sirius opened this door for her, though, it wasn’t donned in greens and silvers. There were absolutely no serpents in sight. In fact, the room could be considered _aggressively_ Gryffindor.

 _Right_ , they totally forgot her. That fucking box e _rased her from existence_.

At this point, Harry wasn’t even surprised, just exhausted.

The guest room, for some reason, was also aggressively muggle. There were posters of models in swimsuits spellotaped on the wall. Harry snorted, dying to know if Archie had put them there so she could tease him from now to forever.

Sirius saw her eyeing them and immediately rushed over to yank them down and bin them. While his attention was elsewhere, Harriet considered using his distraction to run. She probably shouldn’t though. She should try to explain while they were calm...ish.

Remus walked out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry, his muscles locking up at the sight of them at the door.

“Sirius?” Remus asked, eyeing her warily.

Honestly! She was the same girl they raised, not an alien. She was admittedly a bit hurt that they were so appalled by her prescence─but she supposed she deserved it. Also, they didn’t _remember_ raising her which was… understandable.

Besides, he, like Sirius, looked terrible. Even his pajamas seemed tattier.

It made her… suspect. How could the fact that they didn’t she “didn’t exist” make their clothes tattier?

She forcefully willed away Dom’s persistent tries to get her attention.

Instead, Harry reevaluated her conclusion. How come they looked so tired, if the world had forgotten everything about her and, thus, the pretense didn’t happen?

A faint inkling blinked in and then out of her mind.

When Sirius didn’t say anything, just looking at Remus as if it were all his fault, Remus huffed in annoyance.

“Who _is_ she, Sirius?”

“Oh, so you do see her.”

“I’m real,” Harry snapped, crossing her arms. She could feel exhaustion weighing down her eyelids.

“Am I talking to you?” Sirius snapped back, sounding like a pissy teenager himself. “She says she’s James’ daughter,” he told Remus.

There was a weird inflection in the way he said James that made Harry’s stomach twist.

Remus stopped his wary looks at Harry and directed them toward Sirius.

“I’m not saying she is,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes, as he threw himself into his desk chair. “I’m just telling you what she said.”

“Harry, are you...”

“No,” Sirius snapped, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. “He was sleeping. I went to check on him,” he admitted stiltedly.

Oh _no._

“Then _who_ is she? And _why_ is she covered in blood,” Remus demanded stomping over to cast some diagnostic charms in Harry. She forced herself not to react to the wand held at her because, well, she had something else in mind.

They said _HE._

What the _fuck_.

“That’s not—necessary.” Harry sighed, already wishing this was over with and she hadn’t even begun explaining.

To be fair, her clothes _were_ crusty with blood. They were disgusting and gorey and, honestly, the best Harry could do. She had given up trying to make herself presentable after trying out seventeen different cleaning and freshening charms and, although now she smelt pine fresh, the blood from the tournament still made her clothes stiff and rusty.

Aaand the prospect of explaining _that_ was even less appetizing than braving the waters of explaining _girl Harry_ to them both. And her parents!

Yeah, no.

Her plan of running away was more tempting by the second, even disregarding the very good reasons she already had to escape to Brazil.

At least when Remus was trying to clean and heal her, he wasn’t eyeing suspiciously.

“Remus, do you _mind_ focusing on the fact that this girl _claims─_ ”

“She needs a change of clothes,” Remus decided, shoving her into the bathroom. “And a shower.”

Harry scrambled to take the shove without being forced to give her back to them, while Siriuis glared murderously at Remus. He clearly wanted answers and Remus, well… he clearly didn’t believe either of them. Harry wasn’t clear on whom he suspected of lying, though.

Remus nudged her into the bathroom adjacent to the guest room and gave Sirius a dark look, to which Sirius responded by snarling something unintelligible as he stomped out the room.

The hot water against her aching muscles was _heavenly._ Harry sighed, trying to relax her mind as well. It was a bit difficult with an entity inside her mind wildly fighting for her attention.

 _Not now,_ she asked, desperate.

Dom seethed but the ache of his calls smoothed out to nothing.

She tried to figure out what she would tell them. And she had to acknowledge the possibility that the box might have sent her farther than she bargained for.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was sitting on the guest room bed, clad in a dusty nightgown Sirius ransacked from the attic, probably. Remus tried to make it a little less musty with cleaning spells, but Harry was quickly becoming disillusioned from the notion that cleaning spells were of any practical use.

She wasn’t too bitter, though. She felt fresh for the first time since that Merlin-forsaken tournament ended, her wet hair spread across her back, cooling down her skin, heated by the hot summer night, along with the soft breeze coming from the open window. The soft holey cardigan Remus gave her was actually making her a bit sweaty—as evidenced by the tendrils of hair sticking against her neck—but she didn’t want to take it off.

With Remus and Sirius sitting in front of her, in the corner armchair and the desk chair respectively, she felt really tiny. _Especially_ now that she lacked Rigel’s height.

Harry cringed in advance when Remus opened his mouth.

“James Potter doesn’t have a—” Remus told her with an air of finality.

“Yes, thank you!” Sirius bursted out, throwing his arms into the air.

“You look quite a bit like them, though,” Remus admitted, his fingers curling in his lap.

Harry slowly shook her head.

“I really shouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, thank you,” Sirius repeated, in a tone quite different than the one he used for Remus. Quite a bit angry, for sure.

“Speaking of,” Remus said with an intense look in his eyes, “it’s very important that you tell us how you got here.”

“I just did,” Harry promised. She fidgeted with the box, turning it around before simply holding it in both hands.

“Right,” Sirius snorted, “we’re just gonna forget the sketchy child that appeared in the attic and send her off into the night,” Sirius snorted where he was sprawled arms-crossed in his tiny desk chair. To be fair, he sounded like he would like to do that, so you might understand how Harry was getting some mixed signals.

“Would you want me to stay as a guest or a prisoner?” Harry ventured, half-jokingly, because, you know, normal people didn’t _hold_ prisoners.

But Remus regarded her seriously.

“That depends on you.”

Harry inhaled tremulously. _Rest._ The engraving said fucking _rest._

 _This isn’t rest,_ she thought despairingly.

Harry exhaled a frustrated puff of air, her fists clenching around the fabric of her nightgown. She forced herself to relax her shoulders, before she straightened her back and posed herself to begin her story. It seemed the only benefit she would get out of this one way or the other was a bed for the night, which was more than the last few days had going for them.

“Okay. You know the Triwizard Tournament, right? Discontinued because it was killing too many people?”

Her uncles tensed, which Harry took as a yes.

 _How should_ she explain this? Was Boy Harry also in deep with his own ruse? But then he would be on the run, right? They wouldn’t be asking her about _her_ , but rather about him and his whereabouts. Instead, he was sleeping in this very house.

“There was a winner,” she continued, eyeing their reactions.

Her uncles nodded tightly. _They could put a bit of effort too_ , Harry thought drily.

“And I’ve been running since,” Harry finished aridly, unwilling to divulge more in the face of their uncooperation.

“No,” Sirius objected. “Explain what you mean by “You know the Triwizard Tournament, right?””

Harry scrunched her nose at his offensive imitation of her voice.

“Well, there was a winner,” she grumbled. That obviously ruffled her uncles’ feathers, given they puffed like offended owls. She crossed her arms and groaned. “Just give me a second, I’m trying to decide how much I should tell you.”

“Everything, you should tell us everything!” Sirius said at the same time as Remus allowed,: “Harry was the winner.”

Boy Harry wouldn’t be sleeping inside this house if the felony he committed was just revealed in front of the whole wizarding world. Back in her world, Harry had to wait almost a whole day in the bushes for a window to slip into Grimmauld Place. There’s no way this was a safe place for a known felon called Harry Potter.

So either Boy Harry had a much more efficient resolution for the political mess he would make if he was ever found out… or the pretense wasn’t necessary in the first place.

“I don't believe I’m from this world,” she confessed. She forced herself to relax when she realized she was drawing her arms into her chest.

Sirius and Remus exchanged looks.

Alright, so the prisoner option was looking less likely but the probability of guest-held-against-their-will-for-their-own-safety just spiked.

“So, I think you should stay here,” Sirius said, not very enthused by the idea.

“I’m not crazy.”

“Right,” Sirius agreed. “Bit barmy, though, you can say it.”

“We know,” Remus promised, about as convincing as Sirius sarcasm.

“I _am_ James and Lily’s daughter from another universe,” she impressed upon them, fully aware of how barmy she sounded. She slouched back, suddenly very frustrated. “I swear to Merlin. How come this Harry gets to sleep barely three days after the tournament,” she whispered furiously.

“What?” Sirius asked, weirded out.

“What?” Harry parroted back.

“Ah…” Remus said hesitatingly. “The tournament was two months ago.”

Harry jolted. Two months—She quickly unwrapped the box from the grey fabric, ignoring Sirius and Remus’ questions about what it was, and read the full engraving.

_A bit to gain._

Huh. Fishy. And that part wasn’t even the _fishiest_.

 _The other side of the coin,_ eh?

Her mouth went dry.

“Where are my parents?”

She hadn’t really thought about them, but if Boy Harry wasn’t being prosecuted by both the government and Riddle’s construct, then why was he staying at _Grimmauld_? He should be at Potter Plane.

She recalled the way Sirius pronounced James’ name, with painful tenderness..

“Listen—” Remus started, only to be cut off by Sirius:

“Dead.”

Harry drew back, as if Sirius had actually slapped her with the words.

She swallowed as Remus gave Sirius a harsh look.

“What?”

“Fifteen years ago,” Remus added softly, looking as if he wanted to hold her but wasn't sure whether he should.

It was a second cold bucket turned over on her head. _Her_ Remus would have just held her.

She fell back into her arms, a string-slashed puppet, dizzy.

Before she could spiral any lower, she reminded herself quite firmly: this wasn’t her world. And this proved her suspicious, more glaringly that any of the cryptic comments her not-uncles had been dropping around.

Time was set in stone. The time-turner all but proved it, she recalled with a queasy stomach.

The other side of the coin wasn’t just her as an actual _boy_ —it was her without her parents. As an orphan.

Harry exhaled a shivering sigh.

 _I might have bitten off more than I can chew this time_ , Harry told Dom.

 _Don’t you say_ , he replied acidly. Not really in the mood to listen to him, Harriet proceeded to tune him out. _No, wait—_

Harry zeroed in back to Sirius and Remus.

“I can make an ancestry potion,” she offered seriously, “but only to unburden your minds. I don’t need anything from you… I would rather wait until tomorrow but if you absolutely cannot stand to let me stay, I can leave right now.”

She would rather not make the potion, but she could tell they were very alarmed about the fact that she got herself into the house—understandable. James would be biting off heads in their place, Harry thought, her throat tight.

Remus shook his head slowly.

“Let’s just wait a few hours. Then we can discard Polyjuice and… well, you carry quite a resemblance to your parents,” Remus admitted, looking at her with wonderment.

“—and I can find a quicker way to ascertain ancestry,” Sirius added, looking at her distrustfully, but since he wasn’t turning her out into the street, she took it as a win.

She also decided to keep to herself the existence of the Modified Polyjuice.

“So,” Sirius started, leaning back into his chair. “There’s a universe out there where James had a daughter instead of a son.” He snickered. “What age are you? Sixteen? Bet he would be going crazy with your suitors hanging around.”

Remus and Harry snorted.

“He nearly jumped in joy when I told him I didn’t have dates in my short-term plan.”

Remus smiled faintly.

“I suppose you’re Holly, then?”

Harry blinked.

“Holly?”

Sirius eyed her suspiciously.

“That’s the name they shortlisted for Harry if he turned out to be a girl.”

Harry thought Holly was a very pretty name but it was weird to think about being called something other than, well, Harriet. She didn’t feel like a Harriet either, though.

“Yeah, no, they named me Harriet. Nobody calls me that, though. Just Harry’s good.”

Sirius immediately scrunched his nose.

“Your Harry’s called Harry,” Harry amusedly pointed out.

“Yeah, and it’s musty enough for a boy. But for a girl? That’s dowdy.”

Harry affected an offended expression and exchanged a look of commiseration with Remus. A second later, she was reminded of the fact that these weren’t her uncles, they just looked like them, and felt like them, and—

“I agree,” Remus said with mischievous eyes, _stabbing her in the back_. “Too old fashioned.”

Harry gave a sniff. “Well, _you_ would know.”

“Oi!” Sirius protested, even though no one was talking to him.

Harry snickered.

Their brief glee trailed off into the quiet sounds of the heated summer night winds.

“Do you—”

Harry cut herself off.

“Do I what?” Sirius asked, and the new smidge of kindness she could see in his eyes is what prompted her to answer sincerely.

“Do you have a son?” she said slowly. “My age.”

The pallor that conquered his face was enough anser. Harry was forced to shut her eyes in an effort to keep her tears to herself. No Archie, no parents—What kind of fucking hellhole universe was this—

Sirius made a wounded noise.

The silence that followed was thick like honey and bitter like cold medicine.

At least until Remus had a revelation.

“If he’s your age,” he posed hesitatingly, looking ten years older. What did her parents' death mean to him? His clothes were a lot nicer in her world and he wasn’t as… spent. Sickly. “Why would your James and Lily’s death stop his birth?”

Harry straightened. True. And what did her gender have to do with it? There were a lot of factors to consider—the fact that Sirius and Remus were speculating about what her parents’ meant to name their would-be daughter, meant her parents never gave it to boy Harry, so she could assume they didn’t have the same sort of downstairs equipment.

But she couldn’t imagine that her being a boy would have led to their _deaths._

“How did they die?” she asked, already dreading the answer.

“You-know-who,” Remus said, eyeing Sirius.

Sirius very consciously didn’t look back at him; instead he leaned his elbows on his knees, looking like a man defeated.

Harry wondered what that was about, but, more importantly—

“I don’t know who.”

—she was weirded out, what were they, five-year-olds?

“You-know-who,” Remus pressed.

Harry dropped her shoulders, already so fucking tired and these grown men were playing games.

“I really don’t, Uncle Remus.”

Remus jolted at the title and, as he recuperated, Sirius leaned forward to look at her closely.

“Don’t you have—The terrorist, You-Know-Who.”

Harry shook her head.

“Tom Riddle,” Sirius offered.

Harry’s eyes widened against her will.

Fuck.

 _Fuuuck_.

“Does You-Know-Who not exist in your universe?” Sirius asked, sounding a bit offended.

“Is he—Is You-Know-Who _Lord Voldemort_?”

“Do they call him by name in your world?” Remus asked, hand rubbing his chin pensively.

“I mean—” Harry cut herself off with a groan, brushing one hand through her hair but, since she was currently wearing the Potter mop, it got all tangled up in there. Harry made her hands fists and curled into herself. No. _No._ If _he_ — “Is Tom Riddle _not_ a politician here?”

Remus looked about as horrified at the prospect of Voldemort being a politician as Harry felt about Tom Riddle being a _terrorist_.

“A politician?” he murmured, tasting the word and finding it offensive.

Harry unwillingly uncurled herself to stare straight at Remus and Sirius—who were looking appalled and darkly amused respectively.

“I think I know what’s different,” Harry told them, frustratedly pushing back the stray locks of Potter hair tickling her. “When Riddle was in Hogwarts—” Harry caught her herself before she could say anything about the thing she _swore not to say anything about_ … but nothing happened. No warning chokehold, no spiking heart rate, nothing. Harry felt a grim amusement. Guess she found a way out _that_ at least.

“Back in Hogwarts,” she said freely, “Riddle killed someone—

“Harry told us,” Sirius interrupted. “Voldemort killed Moaning Myrtle in the second floor bathroom when she caught him playing in the Chamber with his creepy giant snake.”

Well, yes, but…

Harry shook her head.

“That’s not all that happened. When he murdered her, it somehow broke a part of his soul. It became the inhabitant of the journal he was carrying.”

Sirius was nodding impatiently before she even finished.

“We know about the journal and teenage Riddle.”

“No,” Harry snapped, fed up with her uncle’s weird attitude. “That’s not all. For my world, that guy, the piece of soul that broke off fifteen-year-old Riddle, is Lord Voldemort. The _real_ Tom Riddle, sixty something, is the head of a political party. I really, really need you to know this so you can answer this question: Is sixty something year old Riddle… dead in this universe?”

She felt like she should be ashamed by the hope in her voice but, honestly, Riddle being dead in this universe was the least of her worries at the moment.

If Voldemort was a piece of soul from a fifteen year old murderer—well, it wasn’t ideal, she knew how much damage the construct could create from experience in her own universe—but the alternative of a Tom Riddle who was a terrorist was much, much worse.

“No,” Remus sentenced grimly.

While the idea was still horrifying, it made her wonder. Without Tom Riddle to peddle laws through, that would confirm...

Harry thought longingly about going to Hogwarts as herself, and then quickly shook it off. No parents. No Addy. No Archie. These twisted versions of Remus and Siriuis. Clearly not worth it but she couldn’t help but wonder.

“He was supposed to have died. The Wizarding World celebrated his death fifteen years ago, but he kept reappearing, ever since Harry’s first year. Turns out he just lost his body and, two months ago, after the last challenge of the tournment, he did a ritual. He…” Remus exchanged looks with Sirius.

Sirius explained, “We don’t really know what he did. Probably very gory. Harry’s been keeping his mouth shut.”

Harry jolted a bit at hearing her name refer to someone else. It shook her out of the blow delivered by the stark similarities in the way both tournaments ended. She knew what Sirius would say when he opened his mouth next.

“It gave him his body back.”

“Yeah.” Harry cleared out her throat. “He did that in my world, too. Although I suppose it wasn’t the same him—for me, it was diary Tom Riddle who whisked me away to build the body he didn’t have to begin with.”

 _Tom Riddle_ , she tried inside her mind, _one eager to kill_. She shuddered.

Another side of the coin.

(In a way, this universe was a premonition for her own people. Right at this moment, back in her own universe, there were two Riddles. She could only hope the Riddle set on systematically taking away her civil rights would beat the one trying to outright kill her.)

She takes a moment to be bitter about Thomas Riddle being a pain in her ass in any world.

Harry rubbed her forehead.

“Why do you even call him You-Know-Who?”

“Harry,” Remus said hesitantly, leaning in, “it doesn’t sound like you’ve ever been in a war, but its—”

“Death Eaters did awful things to the ones who dared call the Dark Lord by his name,” Sirius interjected with a wry smirk.

Recalling the feeling of the cruciatus, she decided not to pursue that line of questioning.

“Is that why he killed my parents?”

“We didn’t tell you that,” Sirius pointed out immediately, sounding alarmed.

Harry discreetly turned her palms up, a quiet gesture to show that she was unarmed.

“Just a guess,” she excused immediately. “Fifteen years since they died and fifteen years since he lost his body. A shot in the dark, really.”

Except she was now convinced that Riddle lived to aggravate her.

“A good guess,” Remus praised her. “How are you at pranks?”

Harry propped her chin on one hand.

“I’ve gotten you both a couple times,” she said with a modest shrug and a sly smile.

“Right,” Remus chuckled. Then he sobered up. “He terrorized the Wizarding World for years before we were born. Recruiting our peers since we were of Hogwarts age. He waged outright war for three years—it only ended because, somehow, when he tried to kill Harry, it killed _him_ instead.” He gave her a sarcastic look. “At least that’s what they told us.”

“And my parents died,” Harry said, a weird tint to her voice, probably something to do with the prickle behind her eyes. And without them, no Addy was born.

“But Harry lived,” Sirius rasped.

“But Harry lived,” Harry said quietly. “Harry, the boy.” The concept tasted weird on her tongue.

All alone. No parents, no Addy. She thought she might cry.

She reminded herself this wasn’t real. At least not for her. The one thing she was sure about the engraving on the box, is that it would bring her back to her world. Six days from now, six months, or sixty years.

And, hopefully, her absence would encourage Riddle to focus on the important things, like terrorists who were a construct of himself in his youth.

After all that, all three of them wound down. Sirius kept looking at her like he wanted to ask her something and, as much as Harry would have loved telling him about Archie, the guy seemed kinda toxic and would probably only torture himself with the concept of his unborn son. Pass.

Neither left for the night. She wasn’t sure whose room this was, but no one shooed her off the bed, so she curled up underneath the stifling covers and enjoyed the encompassing warmth of the night and Remus’ holey cardigan.

Maybe she could stay here.

When she jumped back to her own world she would continue her trek to Brazil.

* * *

**_Cause if we don’t leave this town  
We might never make it out_ **

* * *

“I _told_ —”

“We still don’t know if I’m wrong,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow at Dom.

For the first time in weeks, Dom looked less than perfectly made up and coiffed. The kohl around his eyes was a bit smudged and his hair looked as if he tried to brush it with a porcupine.

“Yeah,” Dom agreed, a snarl more than a smile adorning his face, “because we don’t know shit.”

“It’s my body and I do what I want with it.”

“It’s our—”

“It’s mine,” she snarled.

Dom pursed his lips and eyed her consideringly.

“Have you even considered the consequences of your actions? We don’t have the slightest idea of when we’re coming back and the _prophecy—_ ”

“The important part is that we’re coming back at some point.”

“Aren't you humans supposed to care about your families.”

It was not a question.

Harry slouched a bit at the unvoiced accusation.

“I didn’t plan to see them in a long while anyway, Dom.”

He frowned.

“What do you mean? You—I’m not completely sure what happened, we haven’t talked since everything went to shit and my range is pretty limited from inside your mind but… I would have thought you were running to your family.”

Harry curled in a bit, her hands rubbing her elbows.

“I can’t. Riddle is pissed and he’s rallied the government against me. They asked Dad to stand down, Archie’s in custody and I can’t even remember the laws regarding questioning a werewolf—” She cut herself off, her hands now in fists by her sides, eyes shut. “As long as I’m around, my family is a button that Riddle can push to lure me in. I cannot let them be that. More than that, if Riddle is looking for me, then he isn’t focusing on the true enemy—the murderous construct he created.

“I want to sleep now, if you don’t mind.”

Before Dom could say that he did in fact mind, Harry brushed off her mindscape and allowed the sweet darkness lull her to blissful, unconscious sleep.

* * *

_A safe place, the moor of your own_

_For you to lay rest the lie you’ve outgrown_

_A bit to gain, a bit to retrace your steps_

_For you to get to know the other side of the coin_

* * *

Harry tensed when, as she blearily blinked at her surroundings, she saw a couple of hunched silhouettes in the darkened room. Her muscles slackened when she recognized her uncles’ frames, and then tensed back up when she recalled that those weren’t _her_ uncles.

Now jittery with nervous energy, she pushed the blankets off her and hurried off the bed like a frightened rabbit.

What was she supposed to do now?

Her stomach grumbled.

Food. She should get some food.

At the last moment she snatched the music box from the bedside table. She was alarmed by the fact that she couldn’t remember having left it there but at least she had it now.

She made her way down the stairs and winding hallways. A familiar trek but an unfamiliar home. Everything was dusty and littered with suspicious artifacts—that sort of resembled her box, she thought bittersweetly to herself.

As Harry surveyed the plentiful pantry, she decided breakfast in bed was in order.

Since she hardly felt comfortable cooking in what just _looked_ her second home but wasn’t, she decided to pick some fruit and cut some bread and bring up a block of butter with her.

She washed the three red apples and dried them, then wrapped them in cloth to store them in her pockets. Then she drew out a knife and the loaf of bread but, before she could cut the slices of bread, she heard faint steps stomping down the stairs.

They sounded like someone who just woke up and was still too sleepy to be coordinated, so whoever it was, was bumping into everything.

She guessed Sirius. Her Sirius was an early riser but this one was quite different, obviously.

“I’m just cutting up some bread,” she said without turning around.

"Expelliarmus!"

The battle ingrained instincts Remus and Leo arduously ingrained in her pushed her onto the floor, her hold of the knife automatically shifting to the one Leo taught her.

"Sirius," a boy bellowed from the stairs, hiding behind the wall as she hid behind the counter. Pure dumb luck that he apparently hadn't realized that she wasn't firing back and hadn't ventured to fire at her from a closer distance.

Yeah, Sirius, where was he?

"Do you even know why you're attacking me?" Harry asked, thoroughly fed up of watching rays of light in silly colors aimed at her.

"Who even are you?" the boy yelled back.

"I cannot believe this," Harry sighed.

"How did you get in here?" the boy pressed. "Sirius, where are you?”

"Coming," came Sirius' voice, muffled from the distance. "Listen, Harry, I have something to tell you—what are you doing?”

Harry. Boy Harry.

She never stopped to think about what would happen if she met him. Obviously, the world hadn’t ended.

She might have prefered that.

The mere idea of meeting this other person woke up a turmoil of messy emotions inside her and, before she even realized she was considering it, she made a choice.

She was sure of one thing only: she could not bear to meet this boy’s eyes and tell him about her world. About the people that should have been his parents, sister and cousin.

So she snatched the bag of bread, patted the apples in her pockets, and ran as fast as she could past Sirius and the boy, winding down familiar stairs and hallways until she found the Floo.

The bowl of Floo Powder was in the same place as it was back in her world.

She grabbed a fistful into her hand and aimed her shot.

"And where do you think you're going young lady?" Sirius demanded.

Harry jumped and turned to find Sirius holding a body out of sight, hiding Boy Harry behind the wall that gaped open as an entrance to the Floo room.

"I'm sorry!” she said, actually sorrowful. "I'm supposed to be making my way to Brazil."

“Holly berry—”

“ _I don’t know who that is.”_

And, before her ingenious uncle could put together a way to stop her, she swung the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the green fire.

She used the momentum of the trip to propell herself into a nook in-between locales, and her patience paid off because, barely a minute later, a harried looking Remus stepped off the fireplace, looking thoroughly confused and equally determined.

It made her wonder why Sirius hadn’t followed, or Boy Harry for that matter.

But all the better for her.

She wondered for a second if she would’ve obeyed them if they had been her actual uncles, who changed her diapers and teased her father. But she knew the truth—no. She wouldn’t have listened to them any better than to these strangers who plucked the same strings in her heart.

But maybe _they_ could’ve thought of a way to stop her from running.

She shook her head as if to banish the thought.

But she was grateful.

Of parental love, at least, she never had a shortage. That’s how she knew that these two stranger not-uncles already loved her.

She started her walk back to the Lower Alleys, exactly in the opposite direction to Remus.

The first thing she does is set course for the charity shop in the Lower Alleys. She was currently wearing a very beautiful, very intricate, off-white musty nightgown, which wasn’t too bad, but it definitely didn’t classify as daywear.

She walked into the shop, triggering the charm that alerted the witch behind the counter about her new customer.

“Good morning!” she greets with a soft smile. Her hair is dipped in sunny yellow and Harry absentmindedly wonders what potion she used to do that. Probably not just dye, since her hair is dark. And witches don’t use bleach anywhere near their hair. Hmm.

“Good morning,” Harry says, a tad belatedly. She smiles in hopes to soften the social interaction. “I’d like to change my nightgown for something of similar value,” she proposes.

The witch blinks.

“Oh. Do you have anything else to wear with you or do you mean to exchange it for something to wear?”

The readiness of the woman to accept her conditions made her wonder how often this happened. Considering the state of the Lower Alleys, perhaps more than Harry would have thought.

Harry picked out a sage green dress in the end. A bit wide on her, with pockets and a flower pattern that looked old-fashioned even to her outdated fashion sense. But with the unbearable heat outside, she needed something that would leave her arms and legs bare.

She transported the food from her nightgown into her new dress and then proceeded to hand her nightgown over to the witch.

As she walked out of the dressing room, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Like moth to flame, she was drawn to her reflection. This was the first time she had the opportunity to look at herself in the mirror since she got back her own body. Her eyes were an unnerving green, like last time she shed the Polyjuice. Her features were mostly the same as last time. Harry took off her glasses, close enough to see herself clearly without them.

She still wasn’t sure whether she would call the girl in the mirror pretty.

She tilted her head, curious for the answer.

“It looks wonderful on you,” the witch complimented sweetly, the angle of her head subtly downwards, looking at Harry through her eyelashes.

Harry smiled wryly. She couldn’t imagine performing emotions for a job—actually, she would probably be great at it, she was adept at emotional dissonance.

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“Nice meeting you,” the witch said with a smile, offering her hand to her.

Harry took it and shook it but, and the witch brushed her arm as goodbye.

As she walked out of the store, she stuck her hand into her pocket to pick out one of her apples.

Nestled beside the apples, she noticed a scrap of parchment inside with a name and an address, presumably the witch’s.

Her cheeks heated and she giggled.

While she apparently had a new friend, she also needed a new _job._ Luckily, she knew just the potioneer who would appreciate her talents.

Honestly, the more she thought about it, staying in this universe didn’t sound so bad. Sure, it was crumbling down, but she could help them out.

And this way, she could stay out of Riddle’s way, and hope he would forget she was ever connected to the Potters. Brazil could wait for a couple years.

* * *

**_I want to watch wisteria grow  
right over my bare feet_ **

* * *

Cons: turns out, Krait already had all the potioneers he needed and he had absolutely no use for another.

Pros: she was taller than the first time she came around asking for a job.

“I’m not looking for a potioneer,” Krait deadpanned, dead-eyed, ice-cold, completely soulless, from behind the counter.

Harry narrowed her eyes at him.

Not to be narcissistic but she thought it pretty fair to assumed that he probably didn’t have a potioneer of her class in his payroll. The reason she charged so cheap was that it would be unreasonable to ask for more from a locale in this location catering to this demographic and, also, she frankly had no need for more. Her meals were paid for and Krait’s wages covered everything else.

She decided she might as well.

“I’m better than them,” she told him confidently.

Krait raised a skeptical eyebrow—bit rude—especially when he eyed her dress. Harry decided not to say anything; she had faith in Krait. I mean, he hired a twelve year old girl, why wouldn’t he hire one four years older?

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Why do you need the job?”

“Why does anyone need a living wage?”

“What’s the most difficult potion you’ve brewed?”

“Liberespirare.”

Kasten’s eyes widened appreciatively, then narrowed in suspicion. He pointed at her, a tremor in his hand.

“You’re a runt, though.”

Harry sighed.

“How about I take a couple cases of bottles and bring them filled with potions of common use. That way you won’t have a surplus and you only have to pay me after ascertaining their good quality.”

Half an hour later, after wheedling Krait down word by word, Harry emerged from the Serpent’s Storeroom victorious, carrying in her arms two crates of vials and a brand new problem to deal with.

As it happened, she was new to this world, and high tech potions labs didn’t grow in trees.

But such was life!

(Harry tried not to dwell too much on the new scars in Krait's body and the tremors that coursed through him all throughout their conversation. He didn’t know her, it would be weird if she walked in asking about his injuries as if she were worried about him. Which she was. But he didn’t know her.)

Luckily for her, Krait wouldn’t expect her potions for at least a week, so she already had some time plus a deadline to work with. If worse came to worst, delivering the empty vials to him and resigning herself to never asking anything else of him again was always an option.

And, just in time to figure into Harry’s machinations: there was Margo, standing on the sidewalk as she watched her pickpocketer friend steal from distracted people. Today, she carried a basketful of forget me nots.

This time around, Harry was a lot more in tune with the movements of people around her, and she knew the modus operandi of this children, so as soon as she felt the boy’s magical aura coming close to her, she quickly shifted the weight of the crates into one arm to free her other hands and snatch the boy’s wrist before it could dip into her pockets.

Not that she was carrying anything valuable but it was the principle of the thing.

She smiled at him, eyebrow raised.

“Lose anything, Henry?”

The boy gulped and pulled at his arm. Harry let him go at this sign of resistance. He ran away but his tiny friend eyed her mistrustfully, standing her ground even as she observed her eat away at the space between them.

“I’ll give you two of these,” Harry offered, holding her two apples out for Margo, “for one of those.”

Margo was obviously not buying it but the girl made a quick analysis, her eyes darting from her flowers to Harry’s apples, and then she quickly snatched the fruit and laid a cluster of blue flowers on Harry’s open palm.

Harry set down her crates and tucked a single forget-me-not behind each ear, while the rest of her cluster went into her pocket for safekeeping. The sight of the forget-me-nots made her wish for some night-blooming jessamine; both her mother’s favorite flowers. In her household, they used to come hand in hand.

As Margo bit into one of the apples and saved the other one, Harry tucked the crates back onto her hip and asked the girl, “Could you also do me another favour?”

Margo sighed deeply, as if she knew it was only a matter of time that the second shoe would drop. She nodded at Harry as permission to ask her favour.

“A minute of the king’s time.”

Margo eyed her warily, as if considering putting back the bite of apple.

“What king?”

“You know which one,” Harry told her. “I just want to ask Leo something. I don’t mean to cause trouble,” she added, hoping she could make Margo understand how much trouble she didn’t want.

“The king doesn’t do business with outsiders.”

“I’m not an outsider.”

“No, you are,” Margo said certainly. She considered her. “Fine. I’ll take you.”

For some reason, Harry didn’t quite believe her. Since her only other option was crawling back to Grimmauld Place and confronting Boy Harry—and the very notion made her want to puke—she decided to follow Margo even as she led her down a suspicious and familiar path.

Harry had a bad feeling.

“Here?”

Margo nodded.

Harry raised a skeptic eyebrow.

“The Lamia Lodge?” Harry really didn’t believe her tiny smile as she nodded once more. “You sure?”

“Hundred percent.”

“Right,” Harry said dryly, then she proceeded to venture into the Lamia Lodge.

It looked much the same as last time she visited. The heat made the place feel damper but the smells wafting from the walls were just as she remembered. Still not Harry’s first pick for a week-long stay.

Harry cleared her throat, now more knowledgeable of vampire hearing.

Gavril raised his head, an inconvenienced sigh at the ready.

“Yes?” he asked with his spiderweb voice.

“Hi,” Harry said quietly, inordinately fond of another familiar face. He didn’t correspond to her small smile, instead, he watched warily.

When he tilted his face, she could see a deep carve down the side of his face.

Harry didn’t flinch out of pure will.

“I was told the King was here on business,” she said, scanning the surroundings. Could he be down with Kasten? She couldn’t think of a reason to warrant that.

Thinking of Kasten gave her the near uncontrollable urge to ask Gavril about his essences, but she decided not to. He was already oppositional enough without mentioning the count’s grandson.

“Um, yeah, the King doesn’t frequent the vampire coven,” Gavril told her, rolling his eyes.

Harry nodded understandingly. The only reason she bothered to ask was to counter Margo’s lies with hard facts.

Then, because apparently her mistakes in this world were a universe-given freebie, she asked: “So how’s Kasten?”

Gavril’s face, which had relaxed some since she arrived, tightened.

“Why?”

“We…’ve been known to talk.”

Wow, she was already regretting this.

“Are you courting?” he demanded to know. “The Count has a right to—”

“It was really nice seeing you, Gravil, say hi to Irina for me, bye,” Harry hurried as she turned right around and walked directly into Margo.

The boy from before was talking to her and, when they saw her coming, the kids hurriedly exchanged Margo’s apple and the boy’s two-inches wide token.

Harry raised her eyebrows at Margo.

“Gavril just told me the king doesn’t frequent the lodge,” she told her. “Couldn’t imagine what I was doing looking for him there.”

“Oh, yeah, Henry was just telling me that the King went to pick something up from a charms artisan. We can meet him there,” she offered.

Harry eyed her suspiciously. She was _convinced_ Margo didn’t have the slightest intention of taking her to Leo. Harry could always look for him herself… except that she knew that the moment Leo got even a _hint_ of her urgency, he would make it a point of pride to make himself scarce, simply to aggravate the annoying stranger.

So she lets herself be carted around the Lower Alleys, from the lodge, to Aroma Alley, to King Arthur’s statue, to the Dancing Phoenix, to the _restrooms_ , back to the Dancing Phoenix and its until she’s posed with the fact that she cannot afford her customary milk that Harry decides that enough is enough.

“You know, I think he went back to the bathroom.” Margo gave a companionable shrug. “You know the King’s bowels.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be taking off now,” Harry told her, already heading in the opposite direction. “Thanks for everything Margo,” she said, not a single gram of irony in her voice because she really really liked the kid and she obviously didn’t trust Harry so, in a way, she understood what she was doing. Regrettably, they were on opposite sides of this particular matter.

“No, wait, where are you going?” Margo asked, scrambling to follow Harry, which was _so suspicious_ so Harry took an executive decision.

She took off into a run.

"Oh , c'mon!” Margo yelled after her.

Then she followed.

By the time Harry gets to the clinic, she’s already lost Margo a couple times over, but the little girl always manages to go her. But it won’t matter as long as she gets a job at the clinic. She’s far from Hermione and Archie’s level, but she can definitely get an internship at the clinic. Whether she can wrangle a _paid_ internship is another matter.

“Is Eleni here?” Harry asked the receptionist—who wasn’t Miriam, she noticed with a heavy heart.

“Eleni!” The woman called, then turned back to smile at her. “Do you need anything, young lady?”

“I’d like a lab, actually,” Harry asked her with a bright smile, which she shared also with Eleni when she arrived, an amused eyebrow raised at her.

“I’m afraid we don’t have any labs available for public use,” Eleni told her warmly.

“And for employees?” Harry tried, but she couldn’t already tell they didn’t. When Eleni confirmed her suspicions, she murmured, “That’s not in line with clinic base standards.”

“We’re aware,” Eleni confirmed, a laugh underlying her voice. “I’m in the process of haranguing the money from St. Mungos.”

“Okay, but do you have any paid vacancies?”

“Harry!” Margo yelled upon entering the clinic. She glared sourly at her. “I lost you.”

A few paces behind her, also quick like a spell, came in Henry, who had Leo on _his_ heels.

MArgo sighed in relief. “You’re here.”

“I told you I got you,” Leo said softly, his semblance changing completely when he squared his gaze on Harry. Harry felt animosity from him for the first time, as if she were a dangerous enemy to his kingdom, instead of a friend who paid his taxes and his ice cream. It scrambled the single apple in her stomach.

“What’s going on, Leo?” Eleni said warily, her gaze now scanning Harry with a vague sense of distrust that had also never been there before.

“Heard you were looking for me?” Leo asked, looking down at her with intent. _As if_ he could intimidate her.

Instead of taking a step back from his body taking up room, she took two steps forward.

“I need a lab. And I know you can get me one.”

Leo let out a single incredulous laugh.

“Right. Because I’m your errand boy. Speaking of you, who the hell are you?”

“I just took an order from Krait, from the Serpent’s Storeroom,” Harry started, eyeing Leo just to make sure they weren’t fighting or something in this universe—it feels like that could happen, this universe was awful. “Which makes me a taxpayer—”

“Which makes me your king,” he said forcefully.

“Which makes you responsible.”

Leo was obviously not loving what she had to say and, honestly, she depended a lot on him not thinking it over too much. Her arguments were spotty at best. But he promised to help her if she ever needed help and, well, she needed help now. Her Leo would definitely have her extort his doppelganger to help her.

“My name is Harry,” she said, “and I’m requesting assistance from the Rogue.” As she introduced herself, she let her magic unfurl and touch the edges of Leo’s magic, which was all over the place, tangling around his mother and hovering over Harry—and now startling away from her magic. That reaction was strangely painful.

But he didn’t look scared, at least. His mouth dropped open.

“What?” He swallowed. “Was that your magic?”

“I’ll tell you what I can do,” she offered readily. Not like it would do any harm—her existence in this universe was but a blink in the lives she touched. ...There was something really enticing about not having to think fifteen steps into the future for every word she spoke. “I just need you to get me a lab.” She considered her proposal and added, “ A safe lab. With safety commands. But other than that, anything is fine.”

“Just a _whatever_ lab with safety commands is fine,” Leo mocked her, already turning around to leave the clinic. “If I don’t return, you can blame her,” he told them over his shoulder, in such a way that Margo and Henry giggled but his mother furrowed her brow. “You need a king to get you a lab?” he demanded, rolling his eyes.

“It wasn’t like you were my first option.” He was actually her only one, unless she was willing to ask Sirius, which she wasn’t.

“What even is your business in the Lower Alleys?” he asked, harsh accusation underlying his voce.

Harry could admit it looked bad. Some girl, knowing about the Rogue, coming in to make demands. Seemingly an outsider, looking for a lab in the Lower Alleys. Usually, those who ventured into the Lower Alleys were looking for one sort of job or hiding from a sort of person.

She was being so stupid right now, acting as if this Leo owed her anything, including potentially endangering his people.

“I’ll take my leave,” she offered, drawing away, “I’ll—”

“No,” he told her in a resolute voice, “I’ll get you a potions lab. One outside of the Lower Alleys.”

Fair enough, she thought, even as his words jammed like a splinter into the tender muscle of her heart.

“Fine by me,” she said slowly, eyeing this colder Leo. “I’m not here to cause problems,” she told him, because she planned to make the Lower Alleys her hidey hole until she was sent back home. She needed him to not hate her.

“Just because you’re supposed to start to work here, supposedly, it doesn’t mean that you will actually become a regular fixture in this place,” he told her, his gaze set on the horizon.

“I will.” She glared at him. “I just need to finish the order.”

“Right. Because Krait is so honorable.”

Harry frowned, disturbed by his tone.

“I would have thought you would care about your subjects, even the ones who are only just becoming your subjects.”

“I don’t trust people’s intentions as much as their actions.”

“I have more than intentions.” _Just try me_.

Leo looked down at her as they walked, watchful. She took the opportunity to do the same. His build was the same, and his stance too. But there was something in the way he constantly eyed his surroundings, the near obsessive manner with which he kept track of her hands. His arms were littered with bruises and she wondered where he got them and how come Eleni hadn’t healed them.

She let her magic unfurl and got a feel of his aura. He tensed, clearly feeling it, but didn't try to stop her. He felt a bit angrier, a bit more restless. Like a beaten up tiger

When they arrive at the guild, Leo leans on the counter. He makes eyes at the receptionist, who smiles back at him, charmed.

“Leo,” she said, giving him a nod as greeting. “A pleasure to see you. Are you here to drop off your father’s lunch?”

Leo shook his head, his hair falling floppily over his brow.

“No. Actually, I’m here to drop something else. Would you happen to have a lab my friend could use?”

The receptionist looked at her for the first time, her eyes flitting uncertainly over Harry’s new scar.

The new scar was—it was faint, but, when you got close enough, you could see the silvery threads covering the left side of her face like a spiderweb. She wasn't a fan.

“I—Leo, you know outsiders cannot dispose of guild facilities.”

“I’ll be with her the whole time,” Leo lied.

The receptionist eyed him skeptically.

“I’m going to need her name,” she said dryly, leaning over to grab a pen and wet its tip with ink, as Harry drew closer.

“Harry Potter,” she told her.

The woman jolted, causing a violent splatter of ink in the log parchment.

“What?”

Harry looked at her then at Leo, who was watching her with raised eyebrows.

“Harry Potter,” she repeated quietly. Okay, so the Potter name was a bit conspicuous, but it hardly justified the heavy stares. Although, clearly, she should’ve given a fake name, given their reactions.

Some sort of understanding crossed Leo’s features and he nodded at her understandingly before turning to the woman.

“Lionel Hurst and Miss Harry Potter, please,” he asked politely.

The receptionist was still eyeing her with doubt by the time Leo nodded at her to follow him and escorted her to her potions lab. It smelled like harsh cleaning chemicals.

Harry inhaled deeply.

“Okay,” Leo started, eyeing weirdly as she nearly sniffed the cutting table. “Why does your magic act like that,” he asked in a tone that was more a demand than a question.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, taking out her potions kit from her pocket and unshrinking it on the table.

“Of course,” Leo said, laughing bitterly. “Should have expected it,” he told her, before turning around to take his leave.

She should leave it at that, Harry acknowledged, as she fidgeted with the ingredients she laid out in front of her.

“Wait,” she called with a sigh. “Chop these,” she told him, as she grabbed some bettles to squeeze for herself and turned up the flame under the guild’s cauldron.

“I don’t know why my magic is like this,” she told him, “but I know you think it’s alive.”

“So you think so, too!” Leo’s face opened wide into a smile, his guards down for a single second—it took Harry that whole second to shake off the discomfort of seeing traces of the man she knew so well in this stranger. “Well, do you?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, looking at her ingredients. She hesitated before dropping her bettles to toast on the bottom of the cauldron. “There’s something weird about my magic, that I can also feel in yours. We never talked about it—”

“What do you mean we never talked about it?”

Harry jolted.

What the fuck?

Four years and not a single slip and _the_ _second—_

“So I’m not sure what’s so different about yours but I know mine had something to do with the fact that when I was little—”

He laid his hand on her shoulder, the weight of it familiar.

“I knew there was something weird,” he whispered, seemingly to himself, everything a reproach in Harry’s face.

Harry avoided his gaze and focused on the potion. She set to work, lovingly cutting up the ingredients and, with casual precision, nailing each step of the recipes she’s brewed a hundred times over.

“Harry,” he said quietly, “your magic reacted to mine as if it knew it. People don’t realize, but they _ooze_ magic, _all the time_. And yours fit mine as if we’d been friends for years… it was unnerving. But you _know_ me, don’t you? You’re not Harry Potter.”

“I am Harry Potter,” she grumbled but still didn’t look at him.

He sighed deeply.

“I’ll see you around. We’ll talk when you’re in a better mood,” he said over his shoulder and promptly leaving the room.

 _We’ll talk when you’re in a better_ —Harry furiously threw the field poppy seeds onto the bottom of the cauldron to burn along with the beetles, before serving the liquid base on top.

She reopened her consideration for the Brazil plan. Honestly, she wasn’t sure how feasible it was to live in the Lower Alleys. Although she used to frequent the Lower Alleys back home, the Leo there wasn’t hellbent on drawing out her secrets and, even when he was, she had a place to hide: back home. But now…

As Harry brewed, she considered her dilemma and did the math for how much she would charge Krait the next time she saw him. Luckily, working on three cauldrons, she finished the potions plus bottling by noon, just in time to cash in and buy lunch in a locale far away the Lower Alleys.

Before she could croon to the sweet chorus of victory, though, a man stomped in, door crashing against the wall, a sneer on Severus Snape’s face as he circled the lab like a vulture looking for the carcass that was his next meal.

Harry smiled at Professor Snape.

“Where’s Potter,” he hissed. Not really a question but he seemed pretty pissed so Harry decided not to pass on that one.

“He just left,” she told her.

He snarled at her, a wordless reproach. Or a swear. Who knows.

“And you, his latest conquest?” he sneers, hunched like a bat and looking more like a savage vampire than Gavril would ever deign.

Snape said conquest akin to the way other people said _no-talent slut_.

Then, Harry couldn’t quite find it in herself to smile.

“I don’t know where he went,” Harry said quietly, reminding herself that this wasn’t Snape, he didn’t respect her, and he most certainly didn’t know what she was capable of.

Her heart clenched as she looked at him, regardless. He was thinner than her Snape, obvious even with his dissimulating robes. His teeth were yellowed, probably from a smoking vice, and she didn’t think he’d slept a total of ten hours in the last week.

He looked like a fucking wreck.

“Are you—?”

“You’re coming with me,” he growled and, for the second in the time in the last twelve hours, her arm was seized roughly as a man led her out the door.

Harry was very confused. Why was Snape even looking for Harry Potter? Was Boy Harry his apprentice? Unlikely, the man seemed likelier to disembowel him than teach him. How did Snape even know to look for Harry Potter here?

Even Remus and Sirius shouldn’t have any reason to look for her here. _She_ didn’t let them in on her brewing affinity. Unless Sirius and Remus were willing to advertise the fact that they were looking for a girl calling herself Harry Potter, they had no means to find her.

As soon as they step out of the apparating guards, Snape side-Apparates her to the street right outside of Grimmauld Place, in broad daylight—a flagrant offense against the law, let it be said—, before dragging her right along into the house.

Harry glares at him because, first, this man was not her teacher, and second, her Snape would _never_.

"I was doing my _job_ when an owl flies into my office to tell me that a _certain_ child celebrity was walking around as if he was the master of his own destiny—” Snape tall-taled into the air, waking up Walburga Black. As he continued his tale, the woman screeched at him about his dirty blood, also calling Harry all sorts of names that were all objectively worse than no-talent slut. To counter her noise, he attacked with an even louder voice, "—I arrived to disabuse him of the notion, of course, only to find he—"

"Snivellus," Sirius bellowed from the top of the stairs. Like a dim shadow, behind him was Boy Harry, gawking at her.

Harry weakly tugged at Snape's hold on her arm.

"I told you he wasn't there," she murmured, glaring at Snape.

"You told me he left already," Snape said in a deadly quiet voice that she could hear even under Walburga's noise.

"Um."

"Snape, let her go,” Sirius yelled, racing down the stairs.

—But not before Snape swung her around, whipped out his wand, and stuck it right against the soft underside of her jaw. Harry asked her magic to stay still and instead prepared her body to respond to any possible attack. She _knew_ Snape wasn't very strong, even back in her own world, but she wasn't sure if he knew how to fight—he seemed like a man who fought dirty, to tell the truth.

Harry clenched her fists and prepared to roll back, just as Sirius arrived, pulling him harshly away from her.

"I _said_ to let her go, Snivellus!" he roared.

"Why were you using Harry Potter's name?” Snape sneered at Harry, even when his gaze stayed firmly on Sirius.

"Snape—"

Harry flinched at the sound of Boy Harry's voice.

"Shut up, Potter," Snape hissed. "What fucking good are _you_ when you don't even know the sort of _company_ your godson keeps, mutt," Snape spit, rounding on Sirius.

"Watch your mouth, that's Lily's daughter you're talking about,” Sirius bit out.

Snape jolted violently, his muscles going stiff and he stumbled away from everyone until his back was against the wall, grasping for it.

But Harry didn’t dwell any longer on him. Instead, her gaze was on the green eyed boy standing on the top of the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'll tell you later.
> 
> 1.1. Atlantis by seafret.
> 
> 1.2. Sleep on the floor by the lumineers.
> 
> 1.3. The lakes by taylor swift.


	2. Every thrill is gone, wasn’t too much fun at all

**_The story of the beast  
with those four dirty paws_**

* * *

Although the prospect was horrifying to entertain, Harry was beginning to think Snape had a thing for his mom and _that_ was the reason he hated his dad.

He shuddered violently.

Harry was distracted easily enough by the girl sitting at the head of the table. The girl, with eyes a toxic green, was flanked by his godfather and his Remus. Snape, by now, ha stopped shuddering like a theatrical dying seal and proceeded to pace in the kitchen like a lion on death row, glaring over at the girl from time to time. The girl stared back at him.

Snape used to glare at him like that, Harry noted, rancorous.

Snape snarled and turned away from the girl to pace some more.

“Well, good afternoon, child,” Dumbledore greets, sweeping into the room and leaving behind him a trail of _something_ that makes everyone in the room relax. Except Harry, because as he observes Dumbledore meet the girl’s eyes, he can’t help but consider that he used to meet _his_ eyes.

But apparently he will do that _and_ get off his dusty ass to visit _this_ Harry Potter.

By now, the Weasley children had been ushered away by Mrs. Weasley, who earned a few skeptical looks by forcing this move, since _everyone_ knew that as soon as they threw Harry out of the room for their grown up talks, he was gonna make a beeline directly into the room he shared with Ron and relay everything he learned to the others. But no one dared stop her.

To be honest, Harry was glad, if the twins first interaction with the girl was anything to go by.

“A _girl_ Harry Potter,” George had marvelled.

“She’s hot like that, too,” Fred had remarked.

“That’s so gross,” Ron had commented.

“And creepy,” Ginny had added.

Harry’s boundless love for Molly Wealsey grew some more when she dragged them out of the room.

“I’m Albus Dumbledore,” the man presented himself, bowing slightly as he held out his hand out to the sitting girl.

The girl laid her hand on his and let him shake it lightly.

“I’m Harriet Potter.”

“I’m aware,” Dumbledore said with fucking twinkling eyes.

Harry locked his jaw and looked away, hoping that not having triggers in his line of sight would let him to stop sounding like a puffing bull.

“What a coincidence,” the girl deadpanned.

Dumbledore continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Remus took the liberty to update me on your situation before we Flooed here. You took quite a jump didn’t you.”

She shrugged.

“I’m afraid I have a few questions to ask you.”

“A few questions will not ascertain her—!” Snape growled, pacing over, also imitating a charging bull quite well.

Dumbledore held out his hand to shut him up. Snape growled some more and paced away. Dumbledore proceeded to make a series of complicated wand movements in front of the girl's face, who flinched but didn't pull back. She eyed Dumbledore warily as Harry eyed _her_ warily.

Over Harriet’s head, two images appeared, like a projector light on fuzzy vapors. Harry recognized his mother and father, smiling down at their daughter. Harry’s heart lurched.

“Now that we know you are who you say you are,” Dumbledore said pleasantly as he took a seat right in front of Harriet, fanning his robes out like a skirt. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about the Tom Riddle from your world.”

The girl hadn't stopped looking at Dumbledore with a degree of caution, which Harry thought was sort of disrespectful.

“What do you want to know?”

"What causes does he champion?” Dumbledore suggested. “Remus mentioned he’s a politician on the way over.”

Harriet shrugged.

"Everything to do with blood purity. He just passed the Marriage Law, which legally binds haflbloods to accept marriage proposals made by purebloods. Everything they own is passed over to the purebloods, while the halfbloods themselves are allowed some pureblood fringe rights."

Harry's mind screeched to halt.

"What kind of rights are exclusively for purebloods?" he blurred.

The girl gave him a quick glance and then her gaze fluttered away from him. She ended up focusing her eyes on Remus, who regarded her with tranquility from his seat next to her.

"Purebloods get to work in government. The law is a lot more willing towards them, though only parts of it are official… And they get to go to Hogwarts."

It took him a beat to process her last statement.

No Hogwarts? A cold sweat built up at the base of his neck. He passed his hand over it, trying to calm down. The idea of staying with the Dursleys—

"You said you went to Hogwarts,” Sirius pointed out accusingly.

Remus sighed heavily and crinked up his neck, as if asking for patience.

Harry's hackles raised back up as he glared at the girl.

The girl visibly held back from running her hands through her hair—wise move, Harry knew from experience—and instead looked straight into Sirius eyes.

"No. I did not say that. I told you about the Riddle construct, who was found in Hogwarts, but I never presumed it was a first hand account of events," she corrected. "I was told by Rigel," she added confidently.

“No…” Remus slowly said, “but you did say you were taken by the construct.”

Harriet tilted her head, big eyes confused. “No, I don’t think so. _Rigel_ was taken.”

“No, but you said—”

“And what would happen to be Rigel’s surname?” Snape demanded, the tone of his voice making it sound as if he were pulling his teeth instead of asking a question. Harry wanted to know, too. Surnames probably weren’t the most diplomatic way to ascertain credibility but, such was the world they lived in.

The girl gave Sirius a quick look before turning back to Snape, chin raised defiantly.

“Black.”

Snape gave a full body shudder of disgust at the thought of a Black spawn; Harry’s reaction wasn’t as violent, but a ghostly hand clenched his heart. He decided not to read into it.

“What school did you go to, then?” Dumbledore asked, pensively fiddling with his beard.

Harriet cleared her throat, snatching her gaze away from Sirius to answer the question.

“I went to AIM. Most halfbloods end up there.” She hummed thoughtfully. “There’s also Ilvermorny but not a lot of British students choose to go there.”

“I don’t think we have an AIM here,” Dumbledore said in much the same relaxed tone. Harry sort of would have enjoyed to yank his beard in that moment.

“It stands from the American Institute of Magic,” Harry supplied. “Maybe, since halfbloods and muggleborns can go to Hogwarts here...?” she asked, and when she received nods, she continued, “it was a response to the sudden demand.”

“Also accounts for the high percentage of British students.”

Harriet nodded in agreement.

“Can we _please_ get to the part about the Dark Lord?” Snape said tightly. He looked as tortured as Harry felt to be in the same room as the girl.

Harry really wasn’t comfortable with the degree of kinship he felt with Snape right now, truth be told.

The girl eyed him warily but, when Snape didn’t grab her to drag her to a secondary location, her shoulders relaxed fractionally.

“Well,” she started, looking around in consideration, “he’s a politician. You’re his greatest opponent─”

“That tracks,” Sirius piped up.

“—since Hogwarts is your powerhouse, messing with the students’ lives as if they were part of his political chessboard is something of a hobby for him,” she said bitterly.

“At least he isn’t a fucking terrorist,” Harry couldn’t help but mumble.

“What?”

He turned around, arms crossed, and _willed_ himself to keep his mouth shut.

Admittedly, he didn’t have the greatest track record.

But he would really want to know more about Tom Riddle The Politician’s thoughts on who deserved to live or die. After Harry stared at the plate display for what felt like an eternity, Harriet continued talking.

Harry stole looks at her as she told her story.

“First, he banned muggleborns. Like two generations ago. My mom didn’t get to attend Hogwarts… Did she, here—?” Nods all around. The girl swallowed heavily, then continued. “Well, _my_ mom went to Beauxbatons—another popular choice for Hogwarts rejects,” she said with a wry smile. “But halfbloods still got to go.” She directed a shy glance at Snape. Harry was almost sick all over the kitchen floor but he held it back. “Master Snape graduated from Hogwarts and proceeded to get his mastery at the age of seventeen,” she said, nearly _bragging_ , what the fuck.

Snape also looked uncomfortable as he took his pacing back up.

Harry decided it was time to face the girl once again and, when he turned around, face her he did. She was looking directly at him, face stormy.

Harry nearly thanked Dumbledore for the distraction.

“So it seems that Tom’s change of roles had an impact on student performance,” he mused.

“It’s not because purebloods learn better,” Harriet shot back immediately.

“I would never dare imply it,” Dumbledor said seriously.

Harriet leaned back.

“Well, then I agree that wars aren’t good for education,” she admitted. “Is he… He’s very dangerous, isn’t he?” She frowned into nothing. “I keep trying to imagine him as…” The girl cleared her throat. “I know a version of Voldemort. In my world. Voldemort isn’t a sixty something Tom Riddle. He’s fifteen years old and barely building a following. It’s his fault that I’m…”

“That you’re what?” Remus asked softly.

Harry’s belly burned with jealousy.

“Nothing,” she said definitely. “Riddle’s been bothering Rigel since his first year,” she offered. “He sent a sickness to Hogwarts that nearly killed half the school. I had to—” She coughed. “—hear from Rigel that he had to work with Professor Snape to supply enough potions for the students who went into a comma.”

Snape picked up the pace of his prowling.

“How did they fix it?” Dumbledore asked her, a look of consideration in his face. Harry thought it was a good idea to inquire, in case it occurred to Voldemort to direct his tactics toward bioterrorism.

“I—Ah. Well, I taught my cousin something I discovered. He used it to lead people away from the sickness.”

“ _To lead people away—_ ” Snape started, his voice just unleashing, when—

“I tried teaching you. I tried teaching everyone. No one else could do it,” Harriet interjected, eyes fierce. “Knowing more about it won’t help and, honestly, I doubt anyone would like to try it because it’s an extremely intimate way to share one’s magic. And, honestly, even if there was someone willing, I’m not. So we can move on.”

Everyone quite obviously put a pin on that but they peacefully allowed a change of subjects.

“Second year, he decided he couldn’t trust anyone but himself to do his will in Hogwarts,” she continued darkly. “Lucius Malfoy gifted a journal to Ginny Weasley, subjecting her to a series of possessions and fugue states—” Her voice trembled, but her eyes were dry. That tremble in her voice was rage. “He woke up Voldemort, fifteen years old and thoroughly disillusioned with his older-self’s choice to dedicate to politics. He decided that Riddle’s way was too passive, too slow. That it didn’t punish muggleborns the way it should.”

Harry’s arm hair stood on end as the atmosphere became heavier and static-y. Her eyes seemed to glow. Snape went to stand beside Dumbledore, his arm stiff beside his body and Harry couldn’t see, but he was sure he was holding his wand. Even Dumbledore was looking at her. Even _Sirius and Remus_ were regarding her warily.

“He tortured the old basilisk and it was a _bloody_ fight, but in the end he fled.” She smiled tiredly. “We harvested the basilisk. Most of the scales went to the Potions Guild, who is in charge of distributing them. A share of them were saved to Rigel Black’s future research,” she added wistfully.

“I thought—” Remus frowned. “Weren’t you the one who fought the basilisk?”

She shook her head, eyes going all big and confused.

“I couldn’t go to Hogwarts, remember?” She leaned forward, prompting them to mirror her to listen to the story. “Now that Rigel knew what Lord Riddle did to create the construct—to _kill_ Myrtle—he could extort him into staying out of Hogwarts.” She pursed her lips. “Unfortunately he still found a way in.”

“What happened to the adolescent Riddle?” Dumbledore inquired.

Harry wished he wouldn’t, he wanted to know what happened in third year if Sirius wasn’t an Azkaban escapee hunting him down.

“He came back for the mockery of a tournament Riddle cooked up for fourth year. It was meant to prove pureblood supremacy in front of the whole world,” she explained, a twist to her mouth. She snorted. “Joke’s on him. I was already resigned to a fraudulent win orchestrated by Tom Riddle—but _he never_ expected to have his winner kidnapped by his construct and _tortured_ to get him a body.” Harriet almost giggled. “Oh, wow, and he never expected—” She cut herself off, eyes shut harshly. “Archie’s going to be so pissed at me,” she told the ceiling, neck crinked.

“Who is Archie?” Snape demanded.

“He’s Rigel. Arcturus Rigel Black.”

Sirius made a noise as if he’d been punched.

Harry looked at him, wishing he could go and hold him and never let go, but unsure if the man would welcome the affection.

Remus passed an arm over Harriet’s shoulders to touch Sirius' side. Harriet didn’t even flinch.

“I take it you did something impulsive,” Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eyes, stealing a look at Harry.

“Why do you say that?”

“Just drawing from what I know about our own Harry. He can never keep still when he thinks there’s something he ought to do.”

Harriet side-eyed him.

“That sounds like a Gryffindor,” she points out, vaguely appalled.

Snape snorted.

“And yet the hat dawdled,” Dumbledore pointed out, looking now at Harry—but not really. More like, looking at Harry’s general direction.

Harry didn’t start cursing everyone’s ears off because he wasn’t actually unhinged, but it was _this_ close.

“Is anything I said useful to defeat him?” she asked tiredly.

“Everything is useful,” Dumbledore promised. “He has… particular abilities. He found a way to beat death and I just had a very important breakthrough in figuring out a way to defeat him.” He paused. “You’ve given me much to consider.”

“A way to beat death,” she mouthed, before raising an alarmed gaze and setting it on Dumbledore. "Is he—When did he—?"

"I don't know if he's achieved the same feat in your universe," Dumbledore told her kindly. "There's an intent to it—I imagine if he isn't a a being intent on terrori—”

" _Riddle_ isn't. Voldemort _is_. You _have_ to tell me if he can make himself immortal, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore regarded her silently, looking at her over his half-moon glasses.

"I believe there's much you have kept to yourself."

"Nothing you could use" she swore fiercely. "You're not entitled to my secrets."

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you anymore, lest the information fall in the wrong hands.”

“I’ll make Oath here and now.”

“No one’s making an oath,” Sirius declared with a raspy voice to no one in particular.

“I believe you have exactly the tools you need to prevail against the Voldemort from your world… and Tom Riddle.”

“You expect me, _a fifteen year old,_ to beat the terrorist who kidnapped me and the man whose whole political agenda is to make sure I never gain a dignified lifestyle,” she shoots off, syllables short and rhythmic.

“At least he isn’t immortal,” Harry scoffed.

Harriet rounded on him like a shark shifting on its prey.

“And I’m _trying_ to keep them both that way.”

“Merlin forbid Thomas Riddle starts _matchmaking_ the pitiful halfbloods into rich pureblooded families, oh the hardship,” he deadpanned.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You heard me.”

“What part of _being forced to marry first-come-first-serve_ makes you think it’s a good deal?”

“The part where you’re alive.”

“Right.” She nodded roughly. “And what do you think will happen when they have to go home together.”

“At least they’re not six feet under,” Harry pushed, locking his jaw. “What’s a couple smooches then?”

“What’s a—” Harriet glared daggers at him. “I _get_ that war wrecks havoc in a community, but don’t you dare downplay what systematic racism can accomplish. Families are already wrecked apart by the current circumstances, but now, the government will have carte blanche to drag barely legal children away from their parents and into the home of their new spouse who, most likely, will hide them away from the rest of their lives, as if they were sick—as if they were contagious. At best, they’ll take them on a leashed walk.”

“And how do you think that compares to here? Amazing, halfbloods and muggleborns get to go to Hogwarts! And how many do you think _died_ trying to fight that fucking monster the last time he rose? People were tortu—”

“People are tortured in my world, too!” Harriet yelled. “Purebloods _believe_ halfbloods and muggleborns are halfwit dunces who cannot for the life of them collect enough brainpower to learn alongside them, they think they’re superior in mind, body and soul. You think that doesn’t have actual life or death consequences?” she asked in a fierce whisper. “I promise you, not a single one of the people convicted to take the Dementor’s Kiss in the last fifty years was a pureblood.”

“And the rest? All alive, and cozy in their beds in their parent’s houses,” Harry pointed out bitterly.

“No,” Harriet said in a somber tone. “The rest are condemned under the Marriage Law. I could never wish my sister were dead, but I cannot say I’m relieved in the face of what’s expecting her when she grows up.”

It was as if she physically pushed him. He stumbled back, the word _sister_ running laps in his mind.

“You don’t know me, or my world. Maybe learn to be less of a dismissive asshole,” Harriet told him roughly, crashing her shoulder against his, before gracefully sliding around the obstacles that were the adults gaping like idiots at them to leave the room.

Harry really didn’t feel like talking with twisty-world Snape when she felt him following her, but she decided to stay and hear his piece. Merlin knows there’s a 50-50 chance he might pursue.

It absolutely cannot be worse than her outburst in the kitchen.

The anger lashing inside her chest wasn’t completely calm yet, but she could already feel the beginnings of shame curling in her belly.

Of course this world was worse. Here, there was a war. People died. Of course systematic discrimination is a step up over outright murder. It would have been so easy to just shut her mouth but she was _so angry—_

“Yes?” she sighed, turning around to see Snape standing about a meter behind her, immobile.

Everything about him was strained. The way he held himself, as if his body would crumble down if he dared relax. Even his magic seemed to be doing a million processes at once. Her Snape was keen on multitasking but this Snape pulled his magic to the brink and over.

Probably because they were dealing with matters of life or death here.

Was that why he didn’t get his mastery at seventeen? He was fighting in the war?

When she talked about education in the midst of war back in the kitchen, she meant it. She recalled Krait’s recipes. The first time around, back in her world, the recipes were only a little off. This time they were missing whole technological advancements in the potions field. A couple recipes called for the use of underdeveloped techniques. Others had a hundred more steps in between because the technique they used in her world was missing in this one. Others, the potion was a smidge unbalanced because the ingredient they needed was unharvestable.

It spoke ill of this world’s academic development, in the face of the continuous strain of war.

“Miss Potter,” Snape called, voice wound up and strained.

Harriet nodded at him in acknowledgement, acting as if she couldn’t tell he was furious, confused and afraid. That the bend of his lip, the furrow of his lip, and the careful set of his jaw didn't mean anything to her.

She acted as if she didn’t know him, because she did know him, and he would be unbelievably pissed about a stranger being able to read him the way she could.

“I’m sure no one told you,” he said tightly, looking at her down his nose, “but the way your parents died was foretold. The Dark Lord heeded a prophecy about a couple who thrice defied him, and narrowed it down to your parents.” He sneered. “Their child was supposed to be the end of him—or him the end of the child.”

“And what does that mean?” she asked him, trying to pick up what he was putting down.

“The universe isn’t keen on changing its mind,” he said quietly. “You would do well to research the existence of this prophecy in your own world.”

Oh. Right.

If there was a mirroring prophecy in her own world, she would never be done with Riddle. Or Voldemort. Or whoever.

At least until someone died.

As Snape swooped around to get the fuck out of Grimmauld, Harry sank down to the floor, head between her knees, and rested in the dusty room filled with cursed artifacts.

In the room where her family was supposed to make jokes and set up pranks—she cried.

* * *

* * *

* * *

As big as Grimmauld Place was—and it very much was—it wasn’t nearly big enough to accommodate two people pissed at each other. It’s worth mentioning that the two people in question might also be the _same_ person, and were also ravenous for some quality goss.

At some point while Harry was trying to dry her eyes and make them stop looking as if she just spent the last half hour crying, Mrs. Wesley made her way back into the kitchen to make lunch and get updated by the adults. At the same time, every single underage witch and wizard huddled into a single room to have their own secret briefing.

Not a lot of time passed until Mrs. Weasley hurried out of the room to yell up the stairs, “Lunch!” Commotion ensued in the upper floor and Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes with a fond chuckle—only to find a sad, probably pathetic-looking Harry curled up against the wall.

“Come on, child,” she beckoned. “It’s time for lunch.”

Harry walked into the kitchen on trembling legs, noting that the actual banquet Mrs. Wesley prepared for the house looked exactly the same to the one she prepared when Harry and Archie visited the Weasley on a certain winter day, seemingly millennia ago.

Could Boy Harry distinguish between Weasley twins, too? Was it just her? How close were they to actually being the same person?

They were probably more like siblings, she thought.

Someone took the empty plate in front of Harry and deposited another one, this one with a hefty serving of shepherd's pie, mashed potato with gravy on top, and a bunch of veggies, sliced and golden.

Harry dug in, because she was ravenous, because she's eaten one (1) apple in the whole day. And she couldn’t say she’d gorged herself on food while she was on the run, either.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Boy Harry walk in, accompanied by all of the Weasley children and—here, Harry almost choked in surprise—Hermione Granger, who was elbowing Boy Harry and sneaking glances at her.

The boy took it silently but glared darkly at Hermione, who stuck up her chin and stared him down until he finally yielded in their staring contest and started to turn towards Harry. Harry, whose pretending skills weren't _completely_ down the drain, shovelled a spoonful of mashed potato and made as if she'd been staring lovingly at her food the whole time which, to be fair, is what she would've been doing if she hadn't been staring at her other self.

Hermione maneuvered Boy Harry to sit in front of Harry, who focused on her food as if it were a potions technique she couldn’t quite crack. Hermione, Boy Harry’s friend, she marvelled. Wow.

In a way, it was more surprising to find the entirety of the Weasley family so taken with Boy Harry. The twins didn’t crowd him like they did Harry, but that’s probably because he was crowded by Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Even Mrs. Weasley treated him more fondly, constantly attempting to fix his hair. Harry recalled her caressing Boy Harry’s shoulders as they sat down to talk about her world barely an hour before.

Soon enough, Mrs. Weasley served everyone and sat down to enjoy her food with them.

“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” Boy Harry mumbled to the general public, but Harry could feel the weight of his gaze on her.

Harry wished she hadn’t yelled at him. Would she believe her if she told him about the prophecy? She doubted he knew. Dumbledore obviously kept a tight grip on information, even more so that in her own world.

She stole a quick glance at him and quickly abandoned it. Looking at him was as painful as the first time, but she was getting used to it. His resemblance to her father turned her stomach, as did the fact that his eyes looked more like her mother’s than hers. Hers were just green. His were _her mother’s_ green.

And his resemblance to her parents somehow drew her thoughts to precarious lands.

Maybe this is all her fault.

Maybe she deserved everything that happened to her.

Maybe she didn’t deserve to fulfill her dreams.

Maybe she should’ve waited a few years, studied under a mediocre professor and slowly become undone as she _yearned_ to accomplish and dream and grow.

At least the thing with Pettigrew wouldn’t have happened.

Her parent’s would have protected her.

Boy Harry did not have parents to protect him.

“Introduce me,” Hermione hissed loudly.

Boy Harry gave Hermione the stink eye but turned to Harry, not quite meeting her eyes as much as looking in her general direction.

“Harriet,” he said, voice hesitating on her name, “this is Hermione. She really wants to pick your brain about your world,” he added with a fond eye roll.

“Harriet, I completely agree with you! Harry is a good guy but he can definitely get—

“ _Hermione_.”

“I really want to know the background to the oppression of muggleborns and halfbloods,” Hermione said instead, seamlessly switching tracks.

Harry couldn’t help but smile fondly.

This was the woman her cousin loved—but she wasn’t.

Harry felt like picking her brain, too, but about the Fade, which this Hermione didn’t have a clue about.

“I was also hoping you could tell about what you guys discussed in the meeting—”

“Hermione,” Remus and Mrs. Weasley said in unison, though Remus’ was more like an indulgent sigh and Mrs. Weasley looked a bit offended by this shameless violation of her decrees.

“I actually do know you,” Harry told her. She summoned a welcoming smile for this Hermione, who was a little more anxious and unsettled, but just as eager.

Hermione raised her brow, eyes wide.

“You do?”

“Well, of course. We went to the same school,” she lied. “You had top marks on the Mediwizard Tract.” _Along with me who was actually my cousin_. She couldn’t tell her that. She could tell her this, though: “And you’re actually friends with my cousin, who you met in the Tournament. He’s actually in love with you.”

Hermione frowned. “What?”

“Cousin?” Boy Harry demanded, abandoning all pretense of not being part of this conversation. His factions were twisted into an expression of betrayal. “Are you friends with him, too?”

“He’s my cousin,” Harry deadpanned.

“I would never be friends with Dudley Dursley,” Hermione swore vehemently, glaring darkly at the air.

Harry made a face.

“Dudley Durs—?” Harry’s face slackened with understanding. “Oh! No, not him. I’m talking about Sirius’ son.”

Boy Harry made another weird face but at least he wasn’t offended this time. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut, which wasn’t much better, but before Harry could decide between inquiring or letting him be, Hermione called her attention again.

“Good.” Hermione nodded firmly. “So how come we met in the Tournament? I thought only Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts participated.”

“Oh, you had a Triwizard,” Harry noted. She would’ve figured she could’ve stayed out of the whole tournament debacle if Riddle weren’t in charge of fixing the results, but, turns out, even the cup of mystical workings would choose her Harry Potter. Great. “Yeah, what Riddle accept applications from anywhere in the world, to choose three purebloods, three halfblood and three muggleborns.” Harry rolled her eyes. “Of course, he publicized it selectively so the only way AIM heard about it is because my cousin told me. He had mostly free reign to pick and choose champions, as well as fix the guidelines. For example, actual purebloods had to compete as halfbloods because they had _creature blood_ and, of course, he didn’t ask for family trees from muggleborns, so he made a _whole_ mess there, too.”

Hermione frowned, then a smile slowly grew in her face.

“So I participated to represent muggleborns?”

Harry smiled, glad at least she enjoyed the prospect. It certainly made Rigel’s life harder—she couldn’t help but be grateful for her new study partner, though.

“You were splendid,” she told her, “Archie couldn’t get enough of looking at you.”

Her comment prompted two things to happen at once. First, Ron shuffled uncomfortable, clueing Harry in on the relationship between Hermione and Ron in this universe and why they seemed to be sitting so close together.

Second, Sirius pushed off the table, his chair making an ungodly screech against the floor, and then outright scampered off, quickly followed by Remus.

In hindsight, Harry probably shouldn’t have been talking about his unborn son falling in love so casually in front of him.

Harry cringed but quickly gathered her wits and pushed off the table as well.

“It was delicious, Mrs. Weasley,” she told her as she round the table in a quick pace. “I’ll clean my plate soon as I come back.”

A series of “yeah right” and plain scoffs followed, so Harry guessed her plate would be clean by the time she came back and she promised herself to compensate Mrs. Weasley in some way.

Harry ventured into the cold, dusty hallways and veered throughout the house until she found the room where they spent the night before. The door was opened a crack and, inside, Sirius sat on the bed while Remus crouched over him, one leg folded on the bed, his other foot planted on the floor.

“I can answer any questions you have about Archie,” Harry said quietly, “if you want me to.”

She tried to keep her restless hands still.

Now that she didn’t have a sword hanging over her head every second of everyday—or at least it was a very different kind of sword—, her lips were a lot looser, dripping unintended truths.

“You can start by telling me his name,” Sirius rasped unevenly, as if holding back a sob. Harry’s heart beat against her throat. “Why do you call him Rigel and then Archie,” he said, his accusing tone making it clear it was not a request.

“His name is Arcturus Rigel Black,” Harriet explained, walking closer to him. “He loves playing pranks and reading healing journals and laying down in the yard to watch the stars with you.”

“Arcturus,” Sirius repeated softly, eyes glassy.

Harry’s throat tightened.

“Diana insisted.”

Sirius sniffed noisily.

“Yeah, I figured.” His face scrunched up painfully for a second, his entire face baring his agony to the world and the two people who wouldn’t stop looking at him. When he opened his eyes, they were hard, set on Harry. She almost flinched. “What I don’t know is what my son would be doing in the Chamber of Secrets?”

Harry shifted, a couple of aborted movements showing her disconcerted reaction.

“What?”

“I know Harry ended up there _only_ because he’s a parselmouth, but the Black’s have almost no connect—”

“Almost isn’t none.”

Sirius shook his head.

“No. It doesn’t makes sense for Archie to be a parselmouth—”

“Diana—”

“—didn’t have a single parselmouth relative in the history of ever.”

Harry raised her chin defiantly.

“And yet Archie was.”

“I’m not actually stupid, Holly berry,” Sirius hissed, glaring resentfully at her. “Even i—” His voice faltered. “If Archie _could_ be a parselmouth, which is extremely unlikely, how come in one universe, Harry just happened to be a parselmouth, and the next, now his cousin has the ability. Parseltongue is too rare for those odds.”

“We don’t know in how many universes Archie _wasn’t_ a parselmouth,” Harry argued.

“But I know probability isn’t on your side.”

During this whole exchange, Remus scanned Harry for every reaction, watching her carefully as she reacted to Sirius’ words. She saw in Remus' eyes as the truth dawned in him.

“What’s the penalty for passing yourself off as a pureblood?” Remus asked urgently.

Harry closed her eyes and sighed a weary sigh.

“Time in Azkaban. Or Dementor’s Kiss.”

When she opened her eyes, Sirius looked shaken.

“What about Archie?”

“He’ll be fine,” she quickly promised.

“Why isn’t he with you,” Sirius asked impatiently. “I know you didn’t just casually step into another dimension. You were running. Why didn’t you bring him with you?”

Harry blinked.

“Well, they caught him. And they would never harm him, because he’s a pureblood.”

Sirius rolled his eyes.

“And you decided to jump into a whole other universe instead of going to your parents, right?”

It occurred to Harry that Sirius might be questioning more than _Archie’s_ safety.

“My father would have to apprehend me when he laid eyes on me,” Harry told him. “I would never do that to him.”

“There’s workarounds for that,” Sirius said confidently.

Remus raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“And you know this how.”

Sirius shrugged.

“I want to know more about my son,” he told Harry.

Harry honestly felt this was a bit anticlimactic.

Remus wasn’t dragging her to her parents to confess.

Sirius was not going crazy with not knowing Archie’s exact whereabouts.

Which actually made sense when Harry considered that, in this word, her parents weren’t alive and Archie wasn’t anything more than a concept.

Her stomach clenched.

“He didn’t actually go to Hogwarts,” she admitted. “Everything “Rigel” did was actually me. We exchanged places, and he met Hermione at AIM, where he fell in love with her.”

“A ladies’ man,” Sirius noted proudly.

Harry shrugged, unconvinced.

“He’s handsome,” she agreed. “Not sure he’s a ladies man.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and hurried her to keep speaking.

“He was heartbroken when Diana died.”

Sirius sobered up pretty quickly and, as if responding to a presence that wasn’t there, Remus stepped away from Sirius, arms hanging from his sides.

“He was so heartbroken he lied to you and boarded a plane to take him across the ocean, to study in a whole other continent for the opportunity to help someone else’s mother and ease else's pain,” she said softly.

Sirius took one look at her, then at Remus, before turning into Padfoot. He fixed himself a spot in the bed and, for some reason, Remus looked pained by this, but he settled Padfoot’s head on his lap and buried his hand into his fur, and nodded at Harriet to continue talking.

She smiled tightly at them. It unnerved her to see him like this.

She questioned her decision to tell him.

She vouched to keep her world’s misfortune to herself from now on. It was difficult to tell every difference between this Sirius and her Sirius, but she could tell this one was a bit more fractured. As if the things that made him _him_ stood on a tight-rope, constantly.

Maybe her Sirius—and her parents—deserved to know, but this Sirius… she could spare him the grief. He didn’t have to know the bad stuff.

On the other hand, telling the truth was addictive. For a moment, she was dying to know what Remus had to say about the gem inside her mind.

Harry sat down next to Sirius, the tip of her pinky barely skimming his fur. In response, he pushed his back into Harry’s hand, and she gratefully buried it in his fur. It was like when she was little and he used to give them rides.

“We used to run around,” she told him, summoning warm memories of toasty houses in the winter, and of hot summers in the yard. “We Flooed from Grimmauld, back to Potter Place, back to Grimmauld, to Remus’ house—those three houses made up our homes.”

Remus met her gaze with teary eyes, looking surprised he was included in this narrative. And there was Harriet, unable to conceive her childhood without him.

“Remus and Lily taught us how to read, and history and maths. They taught us that mischief could be righteous. Sirius volunteered at the hospital and unknowingly fed Archie’s passion for healing. And my father taught me the ways of the law and the ins and outs of wielding your privilege as a shield. For yourself and others.”

“Mostly, we had a sweet time growing up. Our childhoods were filled with raucous laughter and pranks and continued learning. We were happy kids and you four were all our parents.”

Harry looked softly at the people who raised her, and put her hand over Remus’ buried in Sirius’ fur, incessantly seeking the sunlight of their attention.

“What happened after that wasn’t your fault,” Harry promised when Padfoot finally looked at her. “Believe it or not, we were prepared, and we _did_ fool everyone. What happened, we could've never predicted—and they still couldn't catch us.

“We were happy children.” She smiled wryly. “Up until I got an ambitious idea.”

A Slytherin idea.

Sirius turned back to rub his face and rasp, “And Archie?”

“Archie was very much yours and Diana’s,” she told him, a knot in her throat.

Archie was a prettily wrapped package that contained Sirius’ defiance, and love for the mother he was afraid to forget. She couldn’t have verbalized it as an eleven year old but she thinks that even then, she knew that if she dangled the possibility of getting studying at AIM, Archie wouldn’t be able to help himself.

Again, she wonders if she deserves everything that happened to her.

Looking at them, at Padfoot cuddled into Remus, vulnerable and heartbroken, she couldn’t stand to stay in this room for one more second.

She smiled at Remus, who had Sirius’ head cradled against his neck. He smiled back, a little awkward, but very much the smile Harry grew up with. The tightness in her chest released a little.

Even then, she edged closer towards the exit, the creaky door prompting a jolt from Sirius but, when he didn’t look up, she continued her exodus, taking refuge in the darkened halls and making her way to the living room, where Walburga Black’s portrait lived.

Severus Snape was sanding stiffly by the entrance when she arrived.

He was drawn to his full height, like he did when he was extremely uncomfortable—like he did when he took her to that hospital room to greet her sister for the first time. Even with her unimpressive height—restored to what it should be after years of taking advantage of Archie’s height—she could tell he wasn’t as tall as he felt when she met him as an eleven year old. Snape was actually not very big: the robes hid knobby wrists and sharp elbows. And this Snape was even skinnier.

It worried Harry.

“Everyone’s eating,” she told him placidly, even as her steps hesitated as they took her closer to him. “I could make you a plate,” she offered.

“I would abhor nothing else more,” he promised. “I would let a raven _gauge my eyes_ _out_ before I lunch with those people,” he let her know.

Harry smiled at the mention of ravens but accepted his answer agreeably enough.

“I’m here to deliver your due,” he said, nasally, like someone being forced to apologize or make friends.

(Why did Sirius hate Snape in this universe? Lily would’ve been there in Hogwarts with them and her mother’s is a force to be reckoned with—if she wanted them to be friends, friends they would be.)

Before Harry could ask him what he meant, Snape held out a small pouch for her and Harry offered her palm to accept it. When he dropped it, the heft of the pouch felt remarkably familiar.

“When I came back to the guild, my colleagues asked me if I happened to know the brewer I so rudely interrupted,” he said, voice dripping sarcasm, making it very clear he couldn’t care less of what his colleagues said. “I told them I didn’t, since I would never rub shoulders with someone so undoubtedly thick.”

Harriet looked at him, wishing he would say what he meant.

“Needless to say, it turned out I didn’t have to fear such a thing.”

...Good enough for her.

(Unfortunately, she never got any smoother about receiving Snape’s approval.)

“That’s your payment. I tracked down the buyer to a shop in the Lower Alleys. He told me you came to him today, demanding a job—in a suspect way.”

“It wasn’t suspect.”

“He said you bullied him into hiring you.”

“I just convinced him I was worth it.”

Snape eyed her down his nose.

“He agreed,” Snape allowed abruptly.

Harry averted her eyes to hide the pleased gleam in them.

“I can only hope my counterpart was able to put apart his grievances to teach you,” he said airily. Harry understood the message underlying his words.

 _He_ would never.

The declaration disappointed her to an alarming degree.

“Stop running around calling yourself Harry Potter,” Snape warned. “You will undoubtedly attract the wrong kind of attention.

She looked down at the moleskin.

“I need to ask you about the prophe—”

When she finally looked up, he was gone.

Harry sighed deeply, hefting the moleskine into the air, catching it in the fall.

At least she had her money. It was looking like she wouldn’t have any reason to spend it on rent, but she still had other expenses to consider. Her potions kit was still full, but her wardrobe was severely lacking.

And she was sick of this house, it was giving her a headache.

A shopping trip would help, even if if was for clothes.

* * *

**_It was the raging storm  
of a foreign war_ **

* * *

When Harry peeks into her fifth bedroom, she finally finds Boy Harry, Ron and Hermione, all three huddled together on the floor.

Harry knew there was supposed to be some sort of mandatory cleaning duty in place but that it was cancelled because of Harry’s arrival, which she would’ve considered compensation enought for the nuisance of her presence—But! She was here to make amends.

 _Hermione is amazing in every universe_ , Harry reasoned as she listened to Hermion translate her cryptic comments into conclusions for the one boy staring blankly at her and the other boy laying in the corner.

"It's very clever," Hermione admitted grudgingly. "Riddle is obviously still a prodigy in that universe."

"A prodigy," Ron repeated dryly.

"It's not a compliment, it's a fact, Ron! He's extremely smart. Unfortunately for us, he's also very evil. I would also say that he's also a bit more open-minded in that other universe. If he's willing to fix the detriments of inbreeding of purebloods at the expense of their pureblood—"

"He's not actually sacrificing their pure blood, you know?" Harry felt compelled to point out, as she leaned against the door frame.

Hermione jolted and turned around, like a scared rabbit. Ron eyes her suspiciously and Boy Harry laid by the patch of sun filtering through the window, forearm over his eyes. He didn't even twitch to look at her.

"You said the halfbloods were being forced to marry purebloods and that would make sense if the pureblood population was shrinking and the pureblood population is the main demographic of the Wizarding World, even here—"

"Yeah, but he doesn't think they're actually a threat to purebloods." Harry tried to think of a better way to explain, weighing her head from one side to the other. "The Blacks and Lestranges and Malfoys—a marriage to a halfblood would compromise those families' purity.

"But any other family could take a halfblood spouse and keep their social standing. The immediate generation after _might_ figure as second generation halfbloods, but the generation after _that_ one would definitely be considered pureblooded."

"So nobody’s planning on marrying Draco Malfoy to a halfblood," Hermione summarized.

"Exactly,” Harry nodded. “Everyone else is seriously considering it, even if just out of deference to Riddle, but the Lestrange and Malfoy heirs are unlikely to take a halfblood bride." Harry smiled wryly. "Personally, I can't imagine Draco picking up a halfblood. He can barely have a conversation with me without stomping away."

That's not even mentioning Lestrange, who would willingly drown himself before ever touching a halfblood.

"Draco?" Boy Harry asked, voice cracking out of pure surprise.

"We're friends," Harry affirmed, inching out of the room.

“You said he wouldn’t talk to you,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry shrugged. In the beginning, Caelum wouldn’t either.

"With _Draco Malfoy_?" Boy Harry repeated.

"I don't know any other family pompous enough to name their heir after a dragon," Though she supposed a family of constellations wasn't any better—Draco was both, though.

Harry wasn't allowed to enjoy her reverie for long.

Boy Harry jumped off his lying position on the floor, resting on his haunches for barely a beat before he landed sturdy on his feet.

As Boy Harry walked toward her, Harry made the executive decision of leaving the room and postponing making amends because, seriously, she didn’t have to deal with this shit.

Harry heard hisses and ferocious whispers through the door and, soon enough, Boy Harry stumbled through the door, _completely_ unexpectedly.

“I cannot believe you’re friends with Malfoy,” Boy Harry complained under his breath, leaning against the wall. Harry eyed him and then mirrored him, leaning in the wall in front of his.

“Your reality sounds like a dream and you keep making shitty choices,” Boy Harry told her, crossing his arms and legs.

Harry shrugged.

"Guess you would've made different choices."

"I wouldn't be friends with Malfoy."

"And Pansy Parkinson."

"Eugh."

Harry almost pitied him, he looked truly revolted. Mostly, she was relieved he didn't seem to be in a fighting mood.

Harry stared at him until he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. His fingers tangled hopelessly and he had to take his hand out instead of finishing the motion.

"I'm sorry about that thing in the kitchen," he said in a sigh.

Harry hesitated, but then she shrugged.

“I overreacted, too.”

She had been dealing with some stuff. Probably he was too.

“I actually came to offer to bring you three something from the outside world,” she said, recalling what she meant to do before she decided to leave the room for the sake of peace. “I have some money to spend.”

She shifted her weight uncomfortably as she waited for his answer, the dress brushing her legs.

"I—Where?" He frowned. "I'm not allowed to go out."

“Then you’re staying?”

“Like hell—where are we going?” he said, excitement leaking into his voice and a spring in his step as he led the way.

Harry smiled softly and followed.

Harry decided to lead them into the muggle world. They made a quick detour, both keeping silent by unspoken agreement as they transversed Gringotts to have Harry’s money exchanged for sterling pounds. She still wasn’t sure how Snape found her to begin with but, if he warned her against using the Potter name, it probably wasn’t a good idea to walk around with Boy Harry Potter by her side.

Soon enough, they were strolling on busy London sidewalks.

Unburned by the atmosphere of Grimmauld Place, Harry felt a little lighter. Looking at Boy Harry from the corner of her eye, she could tell her felt a bit better with the fresh air.

“Will Hermione and Ron come looking for you?”

Walking shoulder to shoulder with him, it gave Harry the opportunity to compare their heights. As expected, Boy Harry was taller. By quite a bit, about Archie’s actual height, but while Archie could be expected to grow even more, Harry could tell Boy Harry was just about to tap out.

Boy Harry shrugged.

“They know how I get,” he told her.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. So maybe he wasn’t in the sunny patch because of her.

“They seem nice,” Harry offered, thinking back to her own Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. It was supremely bizarre to have two aquaintances figure as her best friends in another world.

“They are.”

Harry looked around the muggle world. She didn’t get to come here very often. Last time was a few years ago, when her mother took her to visit her grandparents’ graves and took her to lunch. Then, it was morning. Today, it was sunset, and the blinking electronic white lights illuminated the blue world.

In a way, it was just as busy as the magical world, but their clothes were different and the things their handheld devices couldn’t actually kill people.

“Have you ever seen a movie?” Harry asked Boy Harry.

When she looked at him, he looked bored, looking around as if looking for something interesting to see. Harry could tell why— _he_ grew up in this world. But she couldn’t imagine not marvelling at the sheer amount of _light_ muggles built to brighten up the night.

“The Dursleys always left me with Mrs. Figg on the way to the cinema,” Boy Harry told her, mindlessly eyes the shops’ windows.

Harry considered his answer, and decided it was extremely unlikely the Dursleys in her own universe were any less awful.

"Me neither," Harriet said pensively. "Do you know how to find one?"

Boy Harry met her side eye with excited eyes. (He looked so much like Archie—it made Harry wonder if she made the same face too.)

Harry and Harry skipped through London's streets on the lookout for a movie theater. They fumbled through the waiting lines and bought two tickets for the summer’s children’s blockbuster. Boy Harry led them to the commissary and ordered them a packet of chocolates each and a bucket of popcorn for both of them, which Harry paid for.

Sitting down, watching the unexpectedly raw movie playing on the screen, Harry enjoyed the darkness. Enjoyed the excitement fluttering in her chest as she watched the images continue to move without looping back to the beginning—to the sounds along with the recording, to the songs the characters sang. To the hard topics underlying the plot.

And, sitting there in the darkness, it was inevitable for Harry to get hung up on the fact that Boy Harry’s magic was all around her, mixing with hers because they were sharing the same space.

 _His_ magic wasn’t like hers, she noted. It reacted to every irregularity in her magic’s movements with a synchronicity that reminded her of her father’s Light magic. He was Neutral, but just barely. Moreover, she was convinced his magic was dark indigo. Not even skiming lilac.

It had been a while since Harry lamented her weird magic—with Leo, she even learned to like it—but… well, it wasn’t as if her control, and her magic’s ensuing growth, was an enjoyable experience. She wondered why his wasn’t like hers. And he didn’t look like Lily—except the eyes. His eyes were _exactly_ her mom’s—they looked… alive.

Hers looked more like the cartoon dancer’s than her mom’s.

Harry and Harry left the movie theater with a tender e=heart and a newfound passion.

“Did you see the pictures moving?” Harry said, marvelled.

“Did you see _Esmeralda_ moving?”

“And the songs were so… distinctive…”

“And Phoebus, oh my _God_.”

“Choose me or your pyre is a very Riddle thing to say,” Harry commented darkly.

Boy Harry gagged.

“Yeah, just throw clearly sexual imagery about Voldemort right at me, as if it’s not absolutely—” he gagged again, for emphasis, “—disgusting. He’s clearly half dead, Harriet.”

Harry let boy Harry lead her down the London's busy streets. The cacophony of each locale playing their own song at top volume attacked her ears. The whether was arguably cooler than when they left Grimmauld Place, but this was a sweltering summer. They were absolutely drenched in sweat, even in the cooler darkness.

She was so relaxed.

A kind of magical silence surrounded her—only tow magics, Boy Harry's and hers. It was like meditating, but this time it was her magic awareness that got the rest.

When they passed a muggle charity shop, Harry led Boy Harry in. She forced him to wait while she picked a few more dresses. She needed a wardrobe fit for this whether, in this universe or the next.

This charity shop was significantly more expensive than the one in the Lower Alleys but, again, location was a big part of it. The lady was nice, though. She chatted with Boy Harry while Harry browsed. She didn't take long, not as if she were shopping for brewing boots.

She ended up picking one green dress—her favorite color, deep like sea glass against the shallow bottom of the ocean... or like the waters that filtered light for the Slytherin common room—, and a cream one with leaves all over.

When she brought her goods to the counter, she hauled with her two pairs of shoes for Boy Harry, because she wasn't sure the one's he was wearing would last him very much longer. These she picked carefully, assessing them for durability even with the lack of the magical upkeep, because Boy Harry wouldn't be able to give any during the summer months.

She made Boy Harry pay because she still wasn't hundred percent confident in her grasp of the muggle monetary system, and gave him his two pairs of shoes to haul around the city.

They walked aimlessly until Boy Harry silently led them to a park, illuminated brightly with warm lights that looked something between candlelight and fluorescents.

Now, no longer was the day blue and the heat unbearable. It was nice to feel the wind sail under the light layers they wore.

They took a seat on a backless bench, facing each other with their legs on either side. Harry's legs were crossed on top of the bench, Boy Harry had one leg up, one leg down, propped on one of his hands against the bench.

Harry, silently, pulls out something from her pocket and unshrinks it, displaying the bottle of firewhiskey in her hands.

Boy Harry shows his addictive tendencies by giving a belly-deep laugh and reaching for the bottle.

"Tell me about our sister," Boy Harry demands, smile sweet and easy on his face. Once again, her focus is on his eyes—green, like emeralds, like the bottom of a mossy lake, the same color as her mother's earrings, that she loved because they matched her eyes perfectly. Boy Harry's eyes matched her mother's perfectly.

Harriet's were a little brighter, a little more saturated, as if the magic Lily imbued in them had turned them into a spell light.

Even the thing that was meant to liken her to her mom, distinguished her from her.

It was inexplicably sad.

"She's... so small," Harry told him, a smile growing on her face as she thought about her sister. Red curls, brown eyes, and uncompromising will. "And so big. When she was born she didn't really like me, but she definitely would've liked you."

His magic felt settled, like James'.

Boy Harry hummed, looking down as his hand crumpled around the bag that was home to the bottle of firewhiskey.

"Her name's Adriana," she continued. "No second or third names. Her hair is like Mom's and her eyes are like Dad's, and she has the single most musical laugh. And the most earsplitting cry," she added wryly. "I used to have to prop her up on pillows and blankets to feed her because she used to hate it when I touched her."

"Why?" Boy Harry asked, his expression hungry.

She shrugged. "It unnerved her that I didn't have an aura."

"And... Lily? How is she?" he asked, awkwardly, as if he were asking about a common acquaintance instead of his mother.

Guilt swirled inside Harry's chest. She yanked the bottle from Boy Harry's hands, and took a long swig. She shuddered from the warmth and coughed at the sensation of fire down her throat.

She placed the bottle back in his hand.

"She's one of the smartest people I know. And I know a lot of them," she added. "Sharp-quick. Very given to experimentation—I think that's what draws our family together, back in my world. The Marauders and Mum draw joy from experimenting, and failing, and failing and, one day, succeeding. She has a big will, Addy gets it from her. She managed to find a place in a world that kept trying to spit her out and she's one of the few muggles who flourished in the British professional environment. Most of them are crumpled under systematic barriers, or outright immigrated to fitter business climates."

Harry took a second to be resentful.

When she looked up, her male counterpart looked overwhelmed, his left hand tight around the neck of the bottle.

"That's the most I've heard about her since—since ever."

Harry's throat tightened.

"She's crazy powerful," she told him, quickly, the statement shooting out like out of a machine gun. "And she can take a prank, but for sure she’ll get you back a hundred times worse. She loves the smell of night-blooming jessamine so much, she made Dad plant a cluster of them right outside of their second floor window. And a cluster of forget me nots, too. And she's a lefty... just like you and I," Harry said, eyeing his grip on the bottle.

Boy Harry's shoulders trembled, his breath wheezy. Harry politely looked away, mindfully surveying the park. The warm electric light barely skimmed their side of the mark, only a side of their faces illuminated. Her mind was a tad fuzzy and she wasn't sure if it was the firewhiskey or the sleep deprivation.

It was pleasant. She knew she should be worrying about being out in the dark in an unfamiliar place—but she wasn't.

It was very pleasant.

"Dad is the Head Auror," she told him, unprompted, not quite looking at him, but at least looking in his direction. "The whole department is his. He's very smart, too. Even I forget how sharp he is sometimes, he's so goofy. A lot of Gryffindors do that, let people underestimate them on purpose," she said, eyeing Boy Harry speculatively. "He loves his job, but it stresses him. He's so stressed. Especially by the fact that we're both girls. And that' we're both halfbloods, living in a world like that. Mum takes it a lot better, she's a woman. And a muggleborn. But Dad never had to get used to that kind of worries growing up—no female friends, no female cousins, and his mom was as pureblood as they came." Harry shrugged.

Explaining her father to Boy Harry, Harry thought she might understand her father a bit better when she came back.

She took the bottle back from Harry's hands and took another swig. The pleasant fuzzy warmth didn't make her wait for long.

"He sounds different," Boy Harry said quietly, taking the bottle back and taking a swig himself.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"He might be," she acknowledged. "I imagine he's a very different person fifteen years later."

He shook his head.

"I don't think that's it. The way Sirius and Remus paint him..." He frowned and took a large gulp of firewhiskey.

"Mourning twists memories," Harry said quietly, looking down. She wanted to take the bottle but Boy Harry was eyeing too closely to not be considering taking some more.

She decided she didn't need the warmth so much.

"Sirius and Remus talk about as if he hung the moon himself back in their Hogwarts years."

"To be fair, they also do that back in my world—long as James can't hear them do so."

This time Harry did take the bottle, hoping it would distract Boy Harry from the James she dropped.

"He would've already stopped Voldemort."

"He hasn't." Harry corrected her immediately.

Boy Harry shook his head, seemingly in agreement.

“I guess. But he could’ve done something _now_. All anyone seems to want is ignore that Voldemort is actually back. It’s nicer to think I’m crazy,” Harry said bitterly, “but that won't save us.” Harry huffed angrily. “Lucius Malfoy’s walking around as if he wasn’t there in the cemetery with the rest of the Death Eaters, at Voldemort’s beck and call.” Harry shook his head, resentful. “Voldemort want to get his followers out of Azkaban and instead of tightening security, Fudge would rather focus on getting me expelled.”

He growled.

Harry jolted lightly. She hadn’t considered…

“Which—which of his followers are in jail?” she asked, trying to shake off the fuzzy feeling.

Boy Harry blinked. “What?”

The Malfoys had to be out but—

“The Parkinsons?”

“Free.”

“The Rosiers?”

Boy Harry looked at her blankly, and, while some of it must be the firewhiskey’s effect, Harry knew that wasn’t all.

“I think they died,” he said slowly.

Harry’s heart dropped down to her feet.

“...Rookwoods?”

Boy Harry shrugged.

“Probably the same.”

Harry blinked really fast.

“The Lestranges.”

“Oh, they’re alive,” Boy Harry confirmed, sipping at the bottle. “Sirius hates Bellatrix with a passion.”

“Does he know what happened to her kid?” she asked quietly.

She doubted the Rosiers had Aldon. Maybe Edmund Rookwood exists in this universe and Boy Harry cannot remember him, but if Aldon Rosier had life and breath in this world, he would’ve made himself be noticed. Boy Harry would know him.

So she had to assume he didn’t exist to begin with.

Her heart clenched, as if a fist were squeezing it, and a tickle started in her eyes.

“They never had one,” Boy Harry told her, squinting at her. “Are you okay?”

She felt like crying.

How could Aldon and Caelum not exist? They were two of the intrusive people on the planet and this world was just—absent of them? How come the world hadn’t imploded on itself, trying to fill the vacuum they left?

Boy Harry would never know to mourn them.

“So what are you doing to stop him?” Harry asked, hoping he would ignore the raspiness of her voice.

He did, but not without sparing her a questioning look. Well, for one instant, and then he was reduced to sulking mush sitting on the bench, his whole being crumpled under the weight of resentment.

“I don’t know. Apparently, we have the Order of the Phoenix, back from the olden days, but the adults close ranks in the kitchen and relegate us to the upper rooms.” He smiled wryly. “Not that George and Fred stand for that. But they haven’t be able to catch more than scraps.”

Harry wondered if she could get Sirius and Remus to tell her. Not as if she was their kid to protect. She doubted it, though. But she needed all the information she could get if she had a change against the pair of them.

Harry closed her eyes tightly. As things were, her plan to escape to Brazil was still the best option. It meant sacrificing everything she had—her family, her friends, her potions qualifications—to hide in a foreign country and pray to whatever higher power could hear her to please _, please_ , make Riddle take her surrender—her self-imposed exile from Britain—and focus on fighting his damnable construct.

And there laid the main difference between them. It wasn’t their gender, or the quickness of their temper. Gender was no matter to Harry, and her temper was as quick as his, she just hid it marginally better.

We’re Harry was a Gryffindor, willingly and indiscriminately piling responsibilities on his back, Harry was a Slytherin. She knew her strengths, and her weaknesses, and she knew that sometimes, abandoning the fight was the closest you could get to winning it.

If she thought for a second that staying with her family and risking the Dementor’s Kiss would be the safest path for them, she would do it. But that would only provoke Riddle and distract him from what should be his true focus.

"Maybe you should leave it to the adults," she told him seriously.

"Like you do," Harry deadpanned, looking at her with an air of disbelief.

Which, fair.

"I know when to ask for help," she fibbed.

"As. If."

"I do."

Boy Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You don't really strike me as someone who asks for help very often."

"I don't often have a need to."

"And I do?" he asked, a tint of anger in his voice this time.

"No—I mean that you seem very distrustful of authority figures."

"I am the furthest thing from distrustful of authority figures."

"Right."

"I am!"

"You spent the whole meeting in the kitchen glaring at either Dumbledore, Snape, or at me, and you were glaring at me because I appeared out of nowhere."

"Dumbledore owes me a lot of explanations," he grumbled under his breath. "And Snape spent half the meeting glaring at me!"

"I noticed, he used to look at me like that back in my world."

"No one else will do it, Harriet," he said, but she knew he wasn't talking about Snape.

She looked at him, meeting her mum's green eyes framed in his face.

"There has to be someone else."

As she said this, the Snape's prophecy rose to the forefront of her mind.

"There has to be someone else," she repeated, this time the taste of doubt obvious in her words.

Boy Harry shrugged and took a gulp of firewhiskey, shuddering at the feel.

"You get your lot in life."

"You were particularly unlucky."

"I have a family," he said resolutely. "I think I do." His voice was quiet and he paused for a couple seconds. "I love them and they take care of me. Hermione and Ron are the best friends I could ask for."

"I'm not saying it's not good. I mean that... well, the good parts don't justify the bad parts. Just because you made something good out of it, doesn't that the situation wasn't unfair to begin with."

He stared at her for a long time before he opened his mouth.

"The Dursleys..."

Harry straightened.

"Yes?"

Boy Harry shook his head and stumbled off the bench. "Nothing. It’s the firewhiskey claiming its pound of flesh."

"We should go back," she offered.

She stood up on shaky legs and , while she wasn't as thrashed as Boy Harry, she welcomed his weight to balance out hers against her side. His sense of direction was also appreciated since, as hard as she tried, she couldn't remember where they came from.

Together, a bag against their sides, they ventured down London's flash-lighted.

This time, everything was quiet.

* * *

**_Don’t you dare look out your window,  
darling, everything’s on fire_ **

* * *

"Guess we know _why_ you left," Sirius said as greeting, voice overtly caustic from where he sat on the living room armchair. "Now we just need to know where."

"Hey, Padfoot," Boy Harry said dopily. He swung himself out of Harry's arms. Harry let him—her attention was on the crystal array on top of the chimney.

"Shiny," she mumbled.

Boy Harry landed on Sirius' stomach, effectively emptying his lungs. Sirius allowed him to remain there, a bitter look in his eyes.

"I cannot believe that you left to get drunk," he hissed at them both. "Holly-berry, sit down."

Harry eyed him and the only available seat: the two-seater next to him.

She plopped down by the chimney, much more comfortably away.

"They didn't let me go looking for you," he said bitterly, carefully lifting Harry to lay him down on the two seater. "And from the smell of it—" he inhaled deeply before gagging— "I would have found you after looking at a couple public parks. Moving together, you smell like Harry times two. I could have cuaght you in a spell."

"You sound upset," Harry mumbled, hand reaching out to the single candle lighting the room. Sirius growled and snatched her hand away from the fire. Harry looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry about not telling you about Archie. I was scared she told her."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

"Are you okay? You looked—" she tried to find the word but her fuzzy mind refused to give her more than— "weird. When I left."

Sirius kept silent, stealing a couple glances at Boy Harry.

"Twelve years in Azkaban will do that to you."

"Why... were you there?" Harry asked, the back of her mind fearful at an idea she couldn't quite grasp.

"Pettigrey incriminated me for your parents' deaths."

The name exacerbated the fear inside of her.

"Prttigrew is... hateful," she said wholeheartedly.

"You're crying," Sirius sighed, wiping away her tears to hold her close for a second.

"I don't want to go to Azkaban," she whispered, almost a sob.

"I know."

A few moments later, Sirius led her to the armchair, mumbling under his breath, "Unbelievable. They wouldn't let me go out to drink when I was their age but now that I'm an adult, children are allowed to get shamelessly drunk and I'm still grounded."

Harry sighed as she curled up on the armchair, a fluttering kiss laid on her temple as she lost the fight against exhaustion.

Not quite asleep, but not quite wake.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed in that state between asleep and awake but, at some point, she was woken up by whimpers.

"Cedric... Cedric... Cedric, come on."

Harry blinked, disoriented.

"Cedric, no... the cup... Voldemort... It hurts, it hurts, it hurts... I need to go... Cedric, are you awake..."

A little more sobered up but unwilling to deal with people's revelation, Harry quickly processed the last conversations she had before falling unconscious. She groaned as she lifted her face from the cushion, unable to see but very much aware of the sleep creases down the side of her face.

"Cedric," Boy Harry whispered fiercely, pulling Harry back to the present.

Tossing around, Boy Harry was clearly having a nightmare.

"Harry," she said quietly, her voice half gone from sleep. Boy Harry didn't react at all, instead murmuring Cedric once more, fear lacing every syllable. "Harry, come on, wake up."

"Cedric!" he exclaimed, jolting upwards just as Harry's head drew closer.

Their heads crashed loudly.

Both Harries swore under their breath, hunched and nursing their bumps.

"A bit of warning," Boy Harry grumbled.

"I tried to," Harry promised. "Why—Why Cedric?"

Boy Harry tensed all over.

"I'm not gay," he snapped angrily.

"I didn't say anything," Harry said, eyes rolling. "Also, it's rude to have an overt preference," she reminded him. People would call you selfish—mostly in high society, where they needed varied blood to make more purebloods.

Harry couldn't tell if it was because people really believed no one had a preference, or if they expected people to ignore the preference they most certainly had. It might also be that preferences were overall detrimental to pureblood society, which made a lot more sense.

Boy Harry scrunched his face.

"What?"

Harry tilted her head.

"Is that not a thing here?"

Boy Harry turned the question inside his mind.

"I mean—" He chewed his lower lip meditatively. "I think you're supposed to have a preference."

Harry raised her eyebrows.

"Oh."

"At least in the muggle world," he continued, seemingly deep in thought. "And I've never seen a gay couple in the wizarding world—I'm not sure there are any."

Harry, when she realized why that was, rolled her eyes so hard they hurt.

"Guess we gotta thank Riddle for that," she snorted.

Boy Harry scrunched up his nose.

"Why?"

"Turns out the purebloods' repulsion to same sex relationships can't even compare to their disgust of halfbloods and muggleborns."

"If I tell the Dursleys this, they might even accept magic as long as Voldemort convinces muggles of the same," Boy Harry snorted. "Why'd he even do that?"

"Purebloods have a fertility problem. Inbreeding," she explained.

"And gay couples...?"

"The genetic advantages between marrying your second versus your sibling," Harry explained, scrunching her nose.

"Oh," Boy Harry said, mirroring her expression exactly.

"It's not working," Harry added. "It's why he implemented the Marriage Law."

"Yeah, fuck that," he said emphatically. "What are you gonna do?"

Harry shrugged.

"Someone warned Rigel, so we saw it coming miles away. I've been engaged to Archie since the summer prior to my second year."

"What?"

"I'm engaged," she told him, "to my cousin."

Boy Harry made a thoroughly disgusted sound.

"That's so gross, Harriet—"

Harry laughed joyously.

"It's a fake. We'll dissolve it when we turn seventeen and then..." Harry frowned. Another reason to leave for Brazil, she supposed. "Anyway, purebloods aren't sold on it yet. They think the purpose of the law is to funnel halfblood wealth back to pureblood families, but that's just a nice perk. Riddle knows purebloods need new blood. The sacrifice of one generation will fuel the next few, at the very least."

"Your world sounds very nice when all you talk about is our family," he said, "and then you keep talking."

Harry laughed.

"Yeah, well. It's easy to lose sight of the bad stuff when you don't have to live it. If I were Sirius, and my best friend didn't have a muggleborn wife and two halfbloods daughters, this would probably be the furthest thing from my mind. I might forget that so many fields of study are still populated overwhelmingly by men, women keeping only secretarial or administrative positions. I might forget why there are no halfbloods in Hogwarts or that the lack of anti muggleborn sentimient isn't things getting better—its muggleborns being edged out."

"Hermione would live perpetually angry," Harry pointed out.

Harry shrugged.

"She's a hardy one. Arch—At AIM, she really enjoys the magical world. And while she was in Hogwarts, she—Well, after the discrimination she faced during the tournament, I wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to stay in the States."

Boy Harry made a noncommittal sound.

"Does she... love your cousin back?"

Harry thought about it.

"I think she wants to... There are a couple things she doesn't know that might change her mind. I suppose we'll see."

By now, everyone must have heard about the halfblood masquerading as her pureblood cousin, and the goose chase that followed. She wondered if Leo thought she was crazy, which was a stupid question. Of course he did.

"I suppose muggleborns have it a smidge better than halfbloods in the marriage front. Riddle knows purebloods would never consider marrying them,, so the Marriage Law doesn't mention them. But we’re in marriagable age, so they’d do well to prepare in case they are next."

"I don't think we marry that young in my world," Boy Harry told her. "I've never heard Ron even mention marriage." He eyed her speculatively. "Other than the fake engagement, do you—well, has someone asked you? "

Harry looked at him.

"What? Asked me out? Asked me for my hand? Why? Looking for prospects?"

Boy Harry huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Just tell me."

"What do you—?"

He snarled.

"Just—"

"I made it very clear that Rigel and I had been engaged since second year. Our parents drew up the contract as soon as we heard of the marriage law—the other option was to be unprotected, pliant to any proposal sprung upon me." The thought was disturbing, actually. Her friends were mostly repulsed by halfbloods and muggleborns, but there were people who hated them and would want to punish them for being who they were. It was a monumentally cruel move on Riddle's part to leave a section of the population in risk of such abuse. "I don't think anyone wanted to ask me but, if they did, they held themselves back.

"Well, there was Rosier," she said quietly, trying to calm down the anxious, excited, strange fluttering inside her heart. But he only asked her as an offer of protection, right?

"Do you—"

This time, Boy Harry didn't reformulate his question.

"Yes?"

"Do you have a preference?"

"It's not polite to have a preference."

"A preference is hardly about being polite," Boy Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Cut the bullshit."

"Um, well. I don't know," she admitted.

To be completely honest, she didn't wish to elaborate. Even now, with the ruse in pieces at her feet, sharing parts of herself felt... forbidden. Dangerous.

But then she met Boy Harry's eyes. He looked... lost.

She quickly decided that, if she were ever to share self reflections with anyone, it would be with this stranger, who was part of her and whom she would never have to meet again after they said goodbye.

"I—I used to watch my parents laugh and prank each other and think that finding someone sounded like a good idea. Pranking them and cooking with them, and celebrating accomplishments with them—it all sounded very nice. When I was little, I used to think about it constantly. It felt like a sure thing, so I never worried about it. I still don't worry about it but, as I get older—and I don't know if it's the stress of the circumstances or, even if I wanted to, I couldn't be with someone—"

"Because of the marriage contract?"

Harry eyed him.

"Sure. So I still want that. Sunny sundays with someone I love, saving our children from stupid mistakes in electric storms, falling asleep lulled by their breath—its a lovely concept. But it feels so distant and, the more I grow, the surer I am that... I could never trust someone to achieve that kind of intimacy."

"I... think a lot of people feel that way," Boy Harry said, looking down. "And they manage to find someone."

Harry let out a shuddering sigh.

"As I said, I don't really worry about it." She looked at him. "Why were you even asking?"

Boy Harry looked at her with hesitance, probably in much the same manner she looked at him when she was debating whether to tell him or not. She affected a sincere expression, hoping to reach whatever strings he pulled to make her tell the truth.

"I think I might be bi," he admitted. "I—it's like not having a preference." He paused. "I've never said it out loud before. It’s not widely accepted in the muggle world and in the Wizarding World....” He sighed.

Harry swallowed, and tried to find the right words.

She failed.

"Not even Hermione and Ron?"

He shook his head.

"Didn't know how they'd react. I've never seen a wizarding gay couple and Hermione tends to focus on the issues that are right in front of her. No one ever said one way or the other."

Harry was already shaking her head when he finished talking.

"They won't care," she promised.

"They won't," Harry promised. If she knew Hermione—and Hermione _was_ still the same unbendable academic she'd always been—her first stop would be to the books. And Harry knew the data: there was nothing reprehensible about engaging more than one gender.

She didn't know Ron, but she had seen him around Boy Harry and Hermione. He might be a bit difficult but she was willing to bet Hermione would bring him around.

Boy Harry seemed unconvinced.

"It doesn't matter anyway," he told her, shifting in his place. "I'm sure something will happen this year to completely ruin my chances of—" He blushed.

Harry felt like a shark sensing blood. Or a Marauder tasting a weakness to tease.

"To what, Harry?" she asked sweetly.

"Nothing."

"C'mon, tell me."

"I won't say shit."

"I'm you. There's no harm in telling _me_."

Boy Harry looked at her skeptically. "You're not me."

Harry nodded enthusiastically.

"I am. Same genes," she lied shamelessly.

"I do know some science, you know," Boy Harry told her amusedly.

Harry laughed.

"Fine. I'm your sister then."

Her brother met her eyes for a long while. Harry smiled innocently. He swallowed.

"I'm not telling."

Harry narrowed her eyes, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips. She recalled a blush on Archie, similar to the one staining Boy Harry's cheeks. But, where her cousin was eager to talk, Boy Harry had a harder shell to crack.

"It's about your first kiss, isn't it?"

He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"I don't have any tips for that," she admitted. "But, if it makes you feel any better—guys, gals and pals will be tripping over themselves to kiss you after the war is over. Glory is an aphrodisiac," she assured him, fully aware that her range of expertise for aphrodisiacs was limited to potions ingredients and not caring in the least.

Boy Harry rolled his eyes and didn't look very convinced, but the tense set of his shoulders sloped, and he sunk deeper into the two-seater, stretching into a more comfortable position.

Harry smiled and scooted closer to him. She winced when the movement dug the music box into her thigh. She drew it out of her dress' pocket and turned it over in her hand, inspecting it for harm.

Boy Harry stretched his arm to grab it.

"No, don—"

His body locked up, eyes rolling to the back of his head, his body stiff as a board against Harry's side.

She drew to her knees and barely refrained from shaking him before drawing to the front of her mind years of adjacent mediwizard training.

She began making the movements for multiplied diagnostic spells, chaining them to do them quicker but—they all told her that Boy Harry was cool as a cucumber.

But Harry came back to before she could freak out, an unreadable look in his eyes.

"You're Rigel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. As world falls down by david bowie.
> 
> 2.1. Dirty paws by of monsters and men.
> 
> 2.2. Pale white horse by the oh hellos.
> 
> 2.3. Safe and sound by taylor swift.


	3. And nothing on Earth can silence the quiet voice still inside you

**_Whatever here that’s left of me  
Is yours just as it was_ **

* * *

Harriet quieted down, placing her wand back in her pocket. Her hand twitched but Harry moved to keep her from reaching for the music box that _transported her to a new dimension_.

In response, she leaned away from him, widening the distance they'd bridged during their bonding session.

"You're Rigel," he repeated. Not quite a question but he'd like an answer anyway.

"How—?" Harriet stopped herself. They both eyed the music box. "How much do you know?"

Harry shrugged, looking intensely at her. She looked—She looked like a girl he met on the street. Average height, pale skin, knobby knees. Nothing that led him to believe that she was his—his sister—or himself from another world.

Except for the Potter hair.

In the memory the box showed him—in one of them, because it showed him many—Harriet thought she didn't look much like her mother. Harry agreed—they both looked like his father, but with his mother's eyes—which didn't look like Harriet's at all, despite both shades being undeniably green. But, Lily's resemblance avoided them both.

But he thought they had the same ears—the ones he also shared with Petunia and Dudley Dursley.

"How come your parents didn't notice?" he asked quietly. Because hey must have, right? That's what parents did. Watch their children carefully and adjust accordingly. And that sort of mischief is exactly what they should've expected from the Marauders' children, right?

Harriet shot him a shy look as her arms wrapped around her torso. She sighed.

"Not really. They never saw it coming. They explained away the little things." She winced. " _We_ explained away the big things. And their minds did the rest. That is the nature of a successful lie."

"Sounds like you have it all planned out," Harry commented.

Harriet chuckled bittersweetly.

"Well, it didn't rely only on hope. We were careful. We were so careful. Most of the incidents that could have really blown up the pretense were when I was about to die, which we couldn't have reasonably foreseen." She rolled her eyes. "Well, I could've planned for it for second year."

Harry let out a heavy puff of breath—her words reminded him of something.

"Right. Um, Pettigrew." Harry wracked his brains for the right words to say, failing in the attempt. "That fucking asshole."

"Right?" Harriet also huffed an angry breath that trembled at the tail. Not precisely threatening. But Harry knew her memories, and he knew she could take a beating. She could defend herself, as little as she was, littler than Hermione.

He remembered her fighting with Leo Hurst.

Then again, sometimes she chose not to fight. Like when Draco Malfoy kissed her and she pledged her friendship. Like when Caelum called her blood dirty and she treated him to dinner.

"I was, uh, I was really scared Pettigrew would find out I was a girl. It was a very strange experience. Why would he care? But, I knew why I thought he would care... not that my genitals would matter if it came down to that." She shook her head. "It was very strange."

Harry tried to hide how uncomfortable he was. Harriet had let her guard now a couple of times now and, every time, she got this look of absolute regret the second after. More than that, he was absolutely sure the box was wrong to give him access to these memories and, especially, he shouldn't know these things from her perspective.

He already knew what she was trying to share. He knew those thoughts, he remembered her fear when Pettigrew came too close, and her relief when it turned out her magic wouldn't let him.

He'd rather ask about the things he didn't know.

"But didn't you... feel safe when James and Lily got there?"

Harry frowned.

"It took awhile for them to get there," she said slowly. "The first ones there were Remus and Sirius, and Sirius wasn't eager to let me go to my actual parents."

"They didn't know yet?"

The timeline of the ruse was a bit fuzzy. He knew that, in Harriet's present, he parents already knew the truth. But he wasn't—Oh, right. Her memories settled inside his mind. They just found out at the end of the tournament.

How did they even manage it? _He_ was able to tell Fred and George apart and he didn't raise them. And they were twins! Why wouldn't James and Lily Potter recognize their child upon laying eyes on them?

"I am sorry," she said softly. Harry blinked, suddenly pulled from his reverie. "For lying," she explained, "and causing pain to my parents when you didn't even get to meet them. That you have to put up with the Dursleys and, here I am, squandering my family to run away—"

"You can do whatever you want," Harry told her abruptly. It was much milder now, but he could still feel that deep yearning for potions sitting in her—his chest. The only thing he'd ever wished for with that degree of intensity was Hogwartsr—and he had it. So he could understand, even if he couldn't agree. "I could've never stayed away from Hogwarts," he relayed.

Maybe if he had a family to come back to, he reflected.

"I just don't get it," he admitted. "They love you, I could tell. James is annoyingly overprotective and Lily is lovingly strict, and you're basically the product of an afternoon romcom—I don't get it. Why— _why_ would you run from them?"

He got mistrusting authority but he couldn't get why she would mistrust them.

"Harry… they aren't perfect," she said, kindly. There weren't big enough words for the resentment that brewed in Harry's chest in place of Harriet's leftover memory-feelings. "I think, at the beginning, they thought I would grow out of it and now they can't quite wrap their heads around who I am. And it's fine. I wasn't disillusioned by it or anything. I've never doubted their love." Harry turned around to hide a sudden bout of tears. "But it wasn't hard to learn to live without their help."

The sip of bitter truth— _burns_. But mostly, Harry can't help but drink this new information like a man in drought. He's thankful to know the darker bits. It made them feel more real, to know they weren't perfect.

"So they don't know?"

"Oh, they know." Harriet smiled, the smile more like a wince. "That's the whole reason I'm here."

"The Voldemort of your world—he did something, too right? Recuperated his body and—"

"Revealed my identity. Right in front of the disseminated mirrors displaying the tournament and the whole population of Hogwarts." Harry's smile was a snarl this time around. "Never even had the chance to contain it."

"In my world, no one believed me about Voldemort."

"In my world, he revealed himself but they were more enraged with the halfblood passing herself off as a purebloods."

Harry smirked ironically.

"Figures the whole tournament thing just hates us."

"I don't know, it could've been worse."

Harry snorted. "Right. What happened then?"

"Well, I was bloody, head to toe. I couldn't even keep the clothes, they were so stained, I threw them away as soon as I could take them off."

"Cedric's?" Harry asked in a quiet voice. He tried to finish the sentence and say _blood_ , and he couldn't. Thankfully, she understood anyway.

Harriet shook her head. "No. In my world, he was never a Champion."

Her gaze got lost, and Harry could glean from the silence: someone else's blood stained her clothes.

She cleared her throat.

"So I run, for thirty-nine hours in which my longest stops are to get a drink and pick up some fruit. The whole time it was either Aurora or Voldemort's minions on my heels.

"The _second_ I get a long enough advantage, I take off to Grimmauld place and start looking for the artifact Archie made me promise to you. He sold it as an unbelievable good deal: I question the good part," she told him with a dry grin. "So I go looking for the pretty box he promised. To be completely honest, I didn't even read the inscription properly—I was starving, dehydrated, and sleep-deprived, and my mind mainly focused on the rest part. I figured it was worth a try. The streets were saturated with people looking for me and people who knew my face—I wouldn't have lasted a week."

"And the artifact outright sent you into another universe."

"And a couple months into the future," she added with a side eye.

Harry thought about it. If he had to run away, he wouldn't jump to another universe. He'd visit the places from the movies. He'd visit the rest of the fucking country first. Check out Ireland and Scotland and Wales. Branch out to the sunnier bits of Europe. Greece and Italy and Spain. See if he had any knack for languages.

Maybe, if he was lucky enough, he could leave behind the fame that amounted to like, two single perks, and a million downsides. The downsides— which included one dark lord and his many followers—vastly outweighed the perks.

"I would rather travel," Harry told her quite frankly.

"I would rather be sequestered somewhere close to my family," Harriet told him. "Travel—sounds good. Nice. I'd like to do it. But I want more to brew.

"And it was actually my plan, you know? Get myself to Brazil. If it ever came to this, I was supposed to hightail it out of the country." She quieted for a second. "I don't think I want to do that now... I think they need me."

And, again, the same storm he'd been stifling the whole summer roared inside Harry's chest.

"You should. You should go back to your family. I would want the same if the Dursleys hadn't stuck me in a cupboard for eleven years," he said bitterly, a flash of fury coursing through him. He regretted it soon after, as Harriet looked at him with wide regretful eyes.

"I'm so sorry." She closed her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I keep trying to remind myself that our situations are more different that I can conceive—"

"I get the same way," Harry said quickly. And he did. _After_ Hermione gave him a talk about racism and sexism. She'd more of less gotten herself into the dangerous situation but that was her trying to work around a broken system. People shouldn't be blamed for breaking unfair rules, Harry thought.

"I chose it," she admitted, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. "Everything bad that happened to me, happened because I wanted to go to Hogwarts—"

"I wanted to go to Hogwarts, too—"

"Your other option was to stay with the abusive assholes—"

"Hogwarts was your right—"

"It was a swindle. It was reckless and even now, knowing the facts as more than words strung together that my eleven-year-old mind didn't really _understand_ , even as the ruse lays crumbled beneath my feet, I still can't regret it! Even after Lee, and the chamber—I cannot regret meeting Draco and Pansy and even _Rosier_. I cannot regret drawing Professor Snape's attention.

"I can't regret the friends I made and lives I managed to make a tiny bit better," she said, somehow simultaneously sorry but resolute. "I made it to be happy, and maybe I could've waited...'' she trailed off, now hesitant.

"I wouldn't wait. I would have done the exact same you did," Harry told her, intensely. And maybe it was a product of growing up in a society with an impending war hanging like a sword over his head, but he knew they couldn't just _wait_ to be happy. They had to be happy now. And the only reason that he wasn't I filtrating into a school via felony was Hogwarts already made him _so fucking happy_.

"I can't," Harriet told him, eyes closed. "I have to leave Britain."

"Why?" Harry demanded. "Why is it so important you leave? That guy—Leo, he promised—"

"I _can't_ stay in the UK. The place where Leo can protect me is in the Lower Alleys, and there's _no way_ Riddle doesn't have spies there. And I already know for sure that Voldemort does.

"As long as I'm in England, I exist as a threat to Riddle's power. I _am_ the threat. And he won't stand for it. Don't get me wrong—if that was the only consequence, I would stay. I'm not afraid of him.

"But it's not just him. It's Voldemort. And as long as Riddle is focused on me, he isn't focused on fixing his construct's mess.

"Besides, as much as I can stand against his threats—I'm not sure how long he'll stay one as his kill count." Her brow frowned. "Harry, he bet so much on Rigel Black, and he lost so much when I turned out to be a halfblood. The whole point of the tournament was turned against him. He's going to be. So. Pissed."

As Harriet laid out her problem in front of him, Harry took a moment to be relieved that Voldemort wasn't a politician. Was the terrorist any better? Of course not, he would say it was worse. But he was convinced he wouldn't be able to handle Politician Voldemort half as well as Harriet did.

"But what about James?" Head Auror sounded like a powerful gig though, admittedly, Harry wouldn't know.

Mentioning James seemed to reset something in Harriet. She stared at him, but her expression had changed. It wasn't hopeless anymore, just unbelievably sad.

"He would've liked you so much," she murmured. The words sounded painful from her lips. "Unabashedly Gryffindor," she teased.

_(No Slytherin prejudice to unlearn; no potioneer stereotypes to banish away. No guilt. This Harry was all brave, Gryffindor, boy—not a daughter to jealously guard.)_

"Lily, too."

_(And Lily, wow. She wouldn't have to worry about this one's magic. It wasn't wild like hers, like Leo's. It was light magic, restrained magic, like James'. Magic that didn't form involuntary dangerous shields. She'd bet he didn't wake up in agony on his thirteenth birthday.)_

Harry was horrified to find tears in Harriet's eyes.

"I'm sorry you never met them, they would've loved you so much," she whispered, curling in on herself, her whole body wracking.

Her cries called something inside him that pushed him to move, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and muffling his own sobs, which warred to find a way out of his chest.

_(He can make himself so small for someone so much bigger than her.)_

“You should stay,” he said, after a long while, when they were tired from crying and too tired to sleep.

Harry was really starting to think that maybe her Gryffindor family would prefer her to stay and fight rather than have her keep them safe.

And she was starting to think they might be right, this time.

When Harry feels the edges of his sight pulled dark by sleep, they're still hugging.

"Are you fucking done?" Dom sneered, watching Harry's curled up form prone on the floor.

Harry groaned at the sunlight, her head achy.

The sun seemed to beam brighter in response.

"Yeah, suffer," Dom hissed. "You're unbelievable. You get us stuck in another world and instead of working _with_ me to get us back to where we came from, you decide to ingest libations? Who do you think lives inside your body, huh?"

"Me."

"Yeah, and _me_." His tone of voice made it clear who he thought was the important one.

"We'll get back eventually," Harry said quietly, her forearm thrown over her eyes, shielding her from the light that seemed to soften at her will.

"No, we're getting back now."

Harry jolted, her arm falling from her eyes. She squinted, trying to see Dom through the light. He was dressed as a Pharaoh, rocking the eyeliner, though it was a little smudgy, like the ones from the muggle band posters stuck up on the streets.

"Now?"

"I made a deal with the Box," he said, sniffing haughtily, arms crossed and looking away from her. "It was undignified. I can't believe I had to _haggle_ with a lowly cursed artifact. What have I become," he lamented, leaning on an indentured worker who walked over to them.

Gently, Harry moved to prop Dom up and wave away the apparition.

"We're going home?" she asked, inflection belaying her excitement.

"I said that, didn't I?”

"Thank you _so much_ ," Harry said, smile wide, planting one on his cheek.

He rolled his eyes, but his pout turned into a soft close-lipped smile, so Harry figured she was forgiven.

"Now wake up already," he ordered with a snap of his fingers.

Harry was rudely shoved back into a conscious body.

This time, she woke up with a sharp intake of breath, wrapped around a warm body, facing the dark curtains lined with sunlight's sleepy gold.

"I think I can leave now."

* * *

**_And I’ve been meaning to tell you  
I think your house is haunted_ **

* * *

Boy Harry guides her around Grimmauld Place, perhaps forgetting that she grew up in this very house, only it was cleaner. Still, his hand clasps hers as they travel up the winding stairs and into one dusty room in the guest story. Just last night, she spent the night in this level—it felt like a year ago.

Boy Harry ransacks the room for a dusty but sturdy looking rucksack that he holds out for Harry. She proceeds to cast cleaning and freshening charms on it and then begins shoving her brand new stuff into it. Her potions kit goes in her dress pocket, but everything else—her movie stubs, her new dresses and a stray book holding Margo's pressed flowers—she shoves into the leather bag.

Then, together, they go into the room where Sirius or Remus or both slept. Or, rather, dwelled. When they knocked, they were greeted immediately, both Marauders looking surprised to catch them side by side. Both were wide awake, with the heavy undereye bags and unhealthy pallor characteristic of the people inhabiting this dimension.

Sirius was so much skinnier, no longer padded with the leftover solidness of his auror days. Remus was skinnier, too. From the money his friends didn't sneak into his bag.

Harry reigned in the tears, again, and said:

"I found a way back. I'm leaving now."

She let Sirius draw her in, welcomed the weight of Remus joining soon after, who enveloped both and dragged Boy Harry into the hug in one fell swoop.

Harry was sure she must be imagining it, but even their heartbeats felt meeker, as if someone bounced them against the harsh concrete and, with each push off the floor, their hearts found themselves a bit more deflated. As if a monster hung out every day on their back, sucking out their years for itself.

"I'll go draw the Weasley parents," Remus told them, already going for the door.

"Harry and I will wake the kids, holly berry," Sirius told her, nudging her gently for the door, too.

Harry made her way down. Two months was a lot of time, when looking for a missing person. And she wasn’t even sure if the trip back would steal another two months, or maybe even more. What did her family think? Was she now vilified in front of Wizarding society, when just a season ago she was heralded as their champion?

_We are so fickle._

The Weasley's arrive all at once, with Hermione, Harry and Remus following closely. She wished she'd seen more of them while she was here.

Mrs. Weasley barraged right into her, pulling her into a fierce hug. "Don't run from your parents," she ordered into her ear, "they only want what's best for you. They don't do things to try and upset you."

Mr. Weasley wasn't as affusive but his handshake was so warm and enthusiastic that her shoulder shook.

Ginny mentions something about dresses not being ideal Quidditch wear. Harriet tells her she didn't ask. Ginny holds back a smile.

Ron scans her, weirded out.

"I'm not gonna hug you goodbye," he told her. "It's weird. You're my best mate but a girl. Feels wrong," he explained.

Harry shrugged. It's not as if she craved a hug from Ron Weasley, from this universe or the next.

"Good look, mate," he told her, right before he was pushed aside by his twin siblings.

"Hey-o, girl Harry," Fred greeted, linking his arm with hers.

"Heard you wanted to leave without saying goodbye," George added, linking his own arm.

"I wouldn't dare," Harry lied.

They both snorted and Harry was impressed at their grasp of her character, because they didn't know her at all and she couldn't imagine Boy Harry ever ran out on them. On second thought, that was a lie, Boy Harry _did_ seem like a runner.

"Here," Fred offered, pushing something tiny into her hand. "For your cousin or Malfoy or whoever antagonizes back in your world."

Harry eyed suspiciously.

"What's it do?"

"Good luck, girl Harry."

"Hope we get to meet you in that other world," George added, kindly, softly, smiling at her fondly.

The both of them twisted a bit to change their angle and simultaneously drag her into a hug that raised her to her tiptoes, her arms hooked around their shoulders to keep a semblance of balance. And just as quick as the hug started, they were gone.

When Harry turned to look back, there was someone missing. She pinpointed it by recalling the first day she spent with the Weasleys. When Archie and her went to the Borrow, and all the young ones were present, but this time, Percy wasn't.

Percy's absence made her see Mrs. Wesley's farewell in a new light. Harry recalls Percy's disillusionment, the unthinking way in which he didn't even hesitate about whether or not he would play with them. He just didn't, stayed inside, and studied.

It was sad at the time but looking at the consequences of that family dynamic ithrough a twisted glass—it was heartbreaking.

Harry dragged Molly Weasley closer for another hug.

"You too, have faith in your family. Percy's good," she promised fiercely, squeezing the woman in her arms, "in my world, he used to study with me back when I was in first year. He did his best to help me. He's always doing what he thinks it's best. I promise you he loves you, and that he'll come back."

Because Percy Weasley was obsessed with righteousness, and it was never right to run away from your loving parents.

Harry did not dwell in the irony of her statement.

When she untangled from Mrs. Weasley, Hermione was waiting. She hesitated a second, before she opened her arms and wrapped them tightly around Harry's shoulders, tender but very intense in the way she clinged to her.

Harry clings back.

(She wonders if they might be clinging to the same person and not to each other.)

"I'm so sorry I didn't get to meet him," she says, heartfelt sorrow in her quiet voice.

Harry doesn’t know what Hermione thinks of Archie. She thinks it’s a bit like her situation right now with Hermione. Or with Ron, the Hogwarts-age Weasley she interacted with the least, despite being the one in her year.

Or maybe it was like the feeling she got when she discovered Aldon and Caelum were never born and that Boy Harry could never befriend Leo as she did.

Her heart ached.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered again.

"I am more.”

This universe didn’t have an Archie to fall in love with Hermione. Her heart ached more.

Hermione left Harry’s arms, and Sirius used the opportunity to draw her close once more, taking a deep breath against her hair.

"Tell my son that I love him, all the way from the next universe." He hesitated, and Harry couldn’t see his face but she _knew him,_ she knew his expression was wrecked. “We’ll get through this firestorm—” His voice broke.

"And find worlds on the other side," she finished, her own throat tender. "He knows you always love him," she promised later in a louder voice, though it only reached her ears and Sirius'.

"Please tell him that I'll never forget him," he added, his voice thickening with sorrow.

Harry frantically ghosted her hands over his back and shoulders, trying to pull away to look at his face.

"Don't cry—he would never want you to live like this. He would want you to take care of—of me, of Harry, and not spend the rest of your days mourning him. He wasn't born here and he's not dead there," she snarled, already envisioning his future if she held back.

Siriuis avoided her eyes but gave her a single reluctant nod, and let her go to clean his nose against his sleeve.

Remus gathered her in his arms, softer and loser that everyone else, but his hand pressed her head firmly against his shoulder.

"Tell my family that I miss them," he murmured into her temple.

Harry nodded, tears tightening her throat.

"And please be careful with yourself. I don't know what you didn't tell us, but I know it can't be good. I know a fraction of what our Harry went through but I know how he gets when he's hiding something big, and this whole trip was you hiding something big. Please don't waste the resources you have that Harry didn't get."

"This is a guilt trip," Harry protested, meekly trying to separate from him, but yielding to Remus soft pressure to put her head back on his shoulder.

"Yes," he agreed, "whatever to make you actually do it."

This time, when she shrugged him off, he let her go.

Once no one was vying to hug her, Harry’s eyes fell on Boy Harry, who was shuffling by the door.

"I'd like to talk to Harry alone," Harry tells them, smiling shyly at him, who’s apparently more perceptive than he seemed because a glint of suspicion and interest awoke in his eyes.

Both Harries stay rooted in their place, staring at as the rest shuffle of the room.

"What is it?"

"Come home with me.”

Boy He jolted back, stumbling a couple steps.

"What?"

"You could come with me," she says, a bit more fervor in her voice as she gains back the space Boy Harry just put between them. "I know the artifact will let you come with me."

She did _not_ in fact know this. What she did kno was that Dom must be plotting murder right at this moment. But her kit carried live plants—what’s one live human?

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

Boy Harry took that at face value.

"i—Where are you going when you get back? ...Brazil, you said?" he asked disbelieving.

Harry shook her head slowly.

"No... I'm coming home."

"So you're starting a civil war."

"There's already a civil war."

"You said it might settle down if you left."

"But I decided I'm not leaving.”

"So you're starting a civil war."

Harry frowned, because she couldn't exactly deny it. She fully believed that if she went home, she would be coming home to personally open fire against the government. Pacifist fire, she hoped, but definitely some kind of measure against them. Even if there was only one faction responsible for the oppression of muggleborns and halfbloods, its roots had grown deeply inside the system. They needed a sweep, root out the rot, cut away the dead leaves and branches.

"You're waging inland war against a terrorist," she reminded him.

"You too," Harry countered, a smile rising in his factions.

Harry clenched her jaw.

Because, yes, there was no avoiding that.

(Could the wizarding world withstand war from two fronts?

They would soon find out.

Maybe she should wa—

But it was time.)

"I know it doesn't look good," she started, tentatively, "but coming home makes one thing undoubtable: the one purpose of facing this war is so I can make a life alongside my family, and my sister can live in Britain without worrying about her marriage or job prospects. It means a life with my family— _that is also your family_. If you come with me, you get that too."

Harry swallows, having lost the smile.

"You don't know that."

She shook her head.

"I'm sure," she said, her voice like steel. "They would welcome you with open arms. I was serious when I said the would like you _so_ well."

Harry thinks he believes her.

_(And Harry thinks about it, for one eternal instant. He could meet his father, see for himself how well he really flies. See his mother’s eyes for himself, if they really look like his—of if they look like Harriet's, which really don't look like his own. He could meet a Sirius who didn't spend thirteen years in Azkaban, and a Remus with a home.)_

"The ones in this world welcomed me with open arms," he said, sure, after a moment of utter silence.

Harry nodded, because she had thought so.

"I thought I'd offer," she explained, a mildly disappointed smile rising to her face.

Boy Harry nods, looking like he's holding back tears. Harry hopes he doesn't change his mind after she's gone.

_(Harry wonders, wonders if he made a mistake. But he decides not to think it over twice.)_

At the same time, they throw themselves against the other, clashing in the middle with arms around the other. They hold each other for a long, long moment, relishing the intimacy that Harry couldn't imagine ever feeling once again.

When she pulls away, she musters a sweet smile, then reaches for the music box in her pocket and opens it, holding it against her heart.

_(Harry watches Harriet vanish like a rainbow missing light's angle; swiftly and impossible to tell when she stopped existing.)_

* * *

**_I took a little journey to the unknown  
and I came back changed, I can feel it in my bones_ **

* * *

Harry arrived in her old Grimmauld Place, taking in the new aspects that had grown in her absence. More dearly, she took in the old. The clean fresh air. The translucent curtains that let in the sunlight, painting a green leafy pattern on the floor.The wooden color pencils scattered across the carpet beside crumpled scraps of paper.

She takes a deep breath and recognizes the smell of Archie&Siriuis permeating the house, and eases.

It takes her a moment to take note of the voices in the background. She follows them into the kitchen. No one other than her family had any reason to be there, and she wanted to run to them, but her ruse was like an exposed nerve. When before it was like the tender nerve on the outer part of the elbow—not likely to be hit but an unexpectedly unprotected spot—now any little thing threatened to end her.

She takes a peek and barely a breath before her eyes find her parents—and her father's eyes find hers.

_(James Potter has been thinking a lot since his little girl's been gone. Lots of what ifs have been circling his brain, but there's one what if that weighs heavier than the others: what if he heard her when she babbled about potions? Would she have run, then?)_

Harry only just gets to come out of the wall before James crashes into her, after having performed a series of complicated jumps and veers to get himself through the throng of people and the furniture between them, before crashing into his daughter, fiercely drawing her into his arms.

He frantically pecks her brow, whispering admonishments and reassurances, and, barely a moment later, Harry's mom joins them, and James draws her too into the embrace, tucking Addy in between him and Harry.

"Where were you?" he asks desperately, but doesn't leave her time to answer her before shoving her face against his shoulder.

Harry doesn't know how long they stay like that, all bundled up, like a cluster of forget me nots. Her parents have her so wrapped up, she can’t even look out of her little cocoon, barely a few rays of light filtering through her sister’s red hair.

She hears murmurs, though, and the familiar song of her cousin’s voice casting diagnostic charms in the background.

"Okay, that's enough," Archie declares, somehow prying James off and dislodging Harry from the hug. "Sorry. Sorry. _Sorry_ ," Archie growls until her father loosens his arms around Harry, and Archie proceeds to pull Harry into a hug. "There we go," he sighs into Harry's ear, his arms around her shoulders, pushing her cozy into him. Soon enough, Harry feels two more people get into the hug—Remus and Sirius, she can tell by the way they smell and the feel of their arms around her. So different and yet so recognizable from their counterparts.

No one disturbs them—for a moment.

"There's more people waiting, you know," Aldon Rosier says loudly.

To be quite honest, Harry _who_ the rest of the people occupying her kitchen were, laser-focused on her family but—

She gently pushes at Archie to let her go. Archie, in response, flips Aldon off, but he lets go of Harry, Sirius and Remus gracefully letting their niece greet the rude boy.

Harry turns to meet Aldon, taking one, two steps… then losing steam. Suddenly, she felt awkward. How did one even hug Aldon Rosier? She knew there was a fierce need inside her, growing by the second, grown in a world where Aldon Rosier never was but how…?

Slowly, as if careful not to scare her off, like she was actually a little fawn, he lifts his arms. And Harry takes one large step forward, eating away the last feet between them. And Rosier the _curls_ around her, one arm cradling her upper back, the other around her waist, pulling her into his body. His neck bends to hook his chin on her shoulder and his stance widens a little to get her feet between his and close the distance even more, gradually increasing the pressure, pleasantly grounding Harry into the hug.

Harry shudders.

Eventually, he losens his grip and lets her out of his arms, but still holds her arms, one of his hands going into her hair as he opens his mouth to say—

"Beat it, Rosier," Caelum interrupts, slipping between them, and suddenly Harry loses Rosier from her field of vision. Instead, her gaze is firmly set on beautiful boy who was also absent from the other world, and, in that moment, she can’t drink enough of his face. "The only reason I came here," he begins saying loudly, "is because no one would give me any news about you unless I joined and signed the fucking secrets pact, and, of course, right after I do, they tell me that they don’t actually know anything but, now that they have me here, they have this initiative they'd like to—oof!"

Harry doesn't wait for him to stop talking—because she knows it could take forever—before she slips her arms around his waist and yanks him close, fitting herself into his chest. Caelum doesn't seem to know what to do. His hands flutter up and down her sides unsurely, until they finally settle lightly right above her waist, barely letting her feel his fingertips against her torso.

"Halfblood—"

"My turn," Leo decides, hurriedly pushing Caelum off Harry to yank her into his own hug, where he comfortably begins chattering away as Harry rests her chin against his shoulders and, deliciously comfortable, takes his chatter in. "So, your pretty lordling was actually pretty insistent about getting news from you. Obviously we had none—we still have no idea where you disappeared to— but he did believe us when we told him that even if we knew, we wouldn't tell him. So he proposed an anti-tattling curse everybody would sign and, obviously, everyone could breathe a little easier after he suggested that. Of course, it turned out we were telling the truth when we said we had no idea, but he was sulky for weeks after."

Harry's cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

They pass her around, everyone taking her hug and a few comments before willingly lending her to the next person.

Pansy and Draco are there, but, before they can snatch her from Hermione’s hug, the Weasley twins beat her to the punch, lifting her into the air and throwing her as if she were a plushie. When they finally set her on her feet, they kiss her cheeks and leave her standing right in front of Percy Weasley. Harry’s strangely relieved that he’s here, even if he wasn’t in the other Grimmauld Place. In fact, all Weasley children are here, Molly and Arthur missing in this dimension.

Caelum and Leo stand side by side. Draco and Rosier, too.

And _Hermione_ is clinging to her cousin.

Harry almost flinches when she catches sight of a dark glare hidden in the hallway shadows. She recognized the slope of his nose and the build of his boots.

“Is Snape supposed to be here?” she whispers to Archie, moving him so he stands between Draco and Pansy’s line of sight and Harry.

Archie hums.

“He usually stays in the hallway because the first time he made an appearance ended up in a fight.”

Harry pointedly does not ask who he fought.

Harry dramatically raises her eyebrows at her cousin when Hermione takes a seat on his lap, tangling together on the sofa. Archie answers with a grin.

"You missed a lot of stuff," he goads, tilting his chin.

The reminder is enough to make James frown at her, looking as if he’s gearing up to admonish her, but Harry musters a shy smile for him. She's fucking glad to see them either way, so it doesn’t feel too Slytherin for her.

James softens like sun-warmed chocolate.

"A lot of stuff happened," he confirms. "Your friends have been making a lot of noise, little fawn."

Harry’s smile widened until it hurt her face muscles. She was so happy it was painful and it lodged in her throat.

"Lucky we live in such a tight-knit society," she teases. "Word goes around fast, doesn't it?"

And, as she witnesses her friends' faces grin back at her, she thinks she might not have to start a civil war all on her own.

Her friends already did it for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. I am moana from moana.
> 
> 3.1. As it was by hozier.
> 
> 3.2. Seven by taylor swift.
> 
> 3.3. Meet me in the woods by lord huron.
> 
> (Didn't like the last pic so I wasn't going to add it but here it is. To put a halt to all this confusion at the Discord!)

**Author's Note:**

> Canon Snape's characterization was influenced by a fic called The Never-ending Road by laventadorn, as was Sirius' room decor, Harry's fashion choices, and Holly as her alternative name. Those ideas weren't mine, they were laventadorn's.
> 
> Also, don't know if you can tell, but I was listening to Taylor Swift's Folklore when writing this.


End file.
